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THE REAL LADY HILDA 











































































































































































THE REAL LADY HILDA 


A SKETCH 


/ v 

B. M. CROKER 

M 

AUTHOR OF 

14 PRETTY MISS NEVILLE,” “DIANA BARRINGTON,” “MRf JERVIS,” “PROPER PRIDE,” 
“PEGGY OF THE BARTONS,” “BEYOND THE PALE.” 


“On souffre quelquefois plus de la mort d’une illusion 
que de la perte d’une r£alit£.” 


NEW YORK 

F. M. BUCKLES & COMPANY 

II East i6th Street 

LONDON — -CHATTO & WINDUS 


.Cvis'ft 




29587 

Copyright, 1899 

BY 

F. M. BUCKLES & COMPANY 




>p' v^t 1 ’ *\ 

APR 2 01899 )! 






J&'J 


The Real Lady Hilda 


V'tMrO'V 
^XAupw v V V , 


CONTENTS, 


CHAP. PAGE 

I. Waiting for the Lamp 7 

II. Retrospective 21 

III. A Question of Taste 33 

IV. Lady Hildegarde’s Photograph 63 

V. We get into Society 83 

VI. A Visit of Seven Minutes 95 

VII. Four in a Fly 118 

VIII. The Chalgrove Eyebrows 137 

IX. ‘‘We need not Ask if You have Enjoyed Yourself ” 158 

X. “ Who are these Chalgroves ? ” 179 

XI. Mrs. Mound’s Opinion 193 

XII. “Indian Papers, Please Copy” 203 

XIII. Kind Inquiries 223 

XIV. “ Miss Hayes, I believe ? ” 240 

XV. A New Station of Life 255 

















































THE REAL LADY HILDA. 


CHAPTER I. 

WAITING FOR THE LAMP. 

“ Too early for the lamp, I suppose, 
and yet too dark to read a line.” And my 
stepmother closed her novel, with an im- 
patient snap, as she added, “ This is the 
worst of these horrid, poky lodgings ; one 
never can have anything at the time one 
wants it. What a dismal little den it 
is, Gwen ! What possessed us to come 
here ? ” 

I could have answered the question 
promptly and briefly in the single word 


8 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


“ Poverty ; ” but, as it was a term my rela- 
tive specially detested, I merely shrugged 
my shoulders, and continued to gaze into 
the miserable apology for a garden which 
ran between our quarters and the high 
street of Stonebrook, an insignificant 
market town in Sussex. 

Certainly there was not much to see, 
amid the creeping shadows of a November 
afternoon. A dripping hen, wading care- 
fully across the road ; a coal-cart, the 
driver enveloped in empty sacks ; and the 
undertaker’s retriever — black and curly, 
as an undertaker’s dog should be — sitting 
in his master’s doorway, and yawning most 
infectiously. If we had lived opposite to 
the post-office, the lending library, or even 
the hotel, we should have enjoyed a livelier 
outlook, but “ Mound & Son — Funeral 
Establishment — Coffins, Hearses, and 
every Requisite,” to quote from the in- 


Waiting for the Lamp. 9 

scription over the door, in rigid white 
characters on a mourning ground, afforded 
but a gloomy and dispiriting prospect. 
It was too dark to descry more than the 
outline of an ornamental sign, on which 
was depicted an elegant open glass vehicle, 
drawn by four prancing black horses, with 
nodding plumes and streaming tails — 
triumphant-looking steeds, who seemed to 
say, “ Man treats most of us barbarously 
all our lives, then kills us, and makes 
money of our very skin and bones ; it 
affords us sincere pleasure to carry him 
to the grave, and ‘ see the last of him.’ ” 
The interior of our sitting-room corre- 
sponded with its dreary view — a lodging- 
house apartment pur et simple , with 
narrow windows, hideous wall-paper, the 
inevitable round table, cheap chiffonier, 
and bulgy green rep sofa, to complete the 
picture. The fire was low, and unques- 


io The Real Lady Hilda. 

tionably in a bad temper, emitting every 
now and then slow and sullen puffs of 
yellow smoke. It was raining hard out- 
side, and at regular intervals an intrusive 
drop came spluttering down the chim- 
ney. 

“ Dear me, what a sigh ! ” exclaimed 
my stepmother. “ Mariana in the Moated 
Grange could scarcely surpass it ! Cheer 
up, Gwen ; a girl of nineteen has no busi- 
ness to be melancholy — though I grant 
that you have some provocation. Never 
meet troubles half-way, that is my motto. 
I have an idea that our luck will turn 
soon : I saw two magpies to-day.” 

I burst into a short, involuntary laugh. 

“ Oh yes, you may laugh, my old-head- 
on-young-shoulders, but I mean to have a 
regular good talk with the cards by and 
by ; in the meanwhile, we will ring for 
the lamp and tea. Mrs. Gabb will say it 


Waiting for the Lamp. n 

is too early, but I intend to brave her for 
once. Britons never shall be slaves ! ” 

And she gave the bell a peal far more 
befitting the summons of a wealthy woman 
than of a reduced widow lady, who was 
going to dine on poached eggs, and was 
two weeks in arrears with her rent. 

There was only a difference of twelve 
years between us, and Emma, as my step- 
mother wished me to call her, was a pretty 
little Irishwoman, with black hair, dark 
blue eyes (wonderful eyes and lashes), 
and a radiant smile. No more generous, 
hospitable, or impulsive creature ever 
breathed. She was, moreover, a deter- 
mined optimist, who looked steadily at the 
bright side of things, and enjoyed extra- 
ordinary high spirits, and the comic (or 
sunny) view of life. Generally, she was 
to be seen on what is called “ the top of 
the wave,” though, occasionally, there 


12 The Real Lady Hilda. 

came a terrible reaction, and she sank, 
overwhelmed, into the black abysmal 
depths which are the birthright of those 
who are endowed with a nervous, highly 
strung, mercurial temperament. 

Two years previous to this dreary 
November day, my father had died in 
India, and six months later, Emma, hav- 
ing returned home, had summoned me 
from school to join her in London. 

I had previously been given to under- 
stand that we were now very poor — my 
lessons had been curtailed, my mourning 
was inexpensive ; I was therefore aston- 
ished to find my stepmother established 
in most luxurious lodgings in Sloane 
Street, for which she paid — it being the 
season — twelve guineas a week. These 
rooms were crammed with quantities of 
the choicest blooms, cut and in pots, for 
Emma was passionately fond of flowers — 


Waiting for the Lamp. 13 

she declared that she could not exist with- 
out them. Her weeds were as gloomy 
and superb as it was possible for weeds 
to be, and in no quarter was there the 
smallest hint of that detestable visitor 
who, when it comes in at the door, sends 
another inmate flying out through the 
window. 

A smart coupe from the Coupe Com- 
pany, called every afternoon, and took us 
out shopping and into the park ; Emma’s 
ideas were apparently as magnificent as 
of yore. I was fitted out by “ Ninette,” 
her own milliner, in a black crepon and 
silk, and a large French picture-hat, with 
black ostrich feathers — expense absolutely 
no object. It was not for me, a girl of 
eighteen, to make inquiries respecting our 
finances. I took for granted that the 
phrase “ left badly off ” meant at least a 
thousand a year. Emma had imparted 


14 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


to me that her auction had brought in a 
large sum, and that she expected the old 
Jam-Jam — meaning the Rajah of Jam- 
Jam-More — “ to do something handsome 
for both of us.” 

Meanwhile we remained in Sloane 
Street, were extravagant in flowers, books, 
and coupfc , and hospitable Emma haled 
in every passing acquaintance to lunch, 
tea, or dinner. She had no plans, beyond 
a desire to remain in London and “ look 
about her ; ” which looking about her sig- 
nified the constant expectation of coming 
across the f am ilia * faces of Eastern 
friends. Miserable mofussilite ! poor de- 
luded Emma ! She had a foolish idea 
that the metropolis resembled a great 
Indian station, and that she could scarcely 
cross the road without meeting some one 
she knew. 

Her special friends were not in Eng- 


Waiting for the Lamp. 15 

land. At the moment they had either 
just gone back, or were not coming home 
till next year. I noticed — not once, but 
repeatedly — that when we encountered 
her mere acquaintances, and they asked 
where we were living, an expression of 
significant astonishment was visible in 
their faces the moment our address was 
mentioned. I also noted an increased 
cordiality of manner, and an alacrity in 
assuring Emma that they would be de- 
lighted to come and see her. I do not 
say this of all, but of some. 

And then one morning the crash came. 
I met our landlady on the stairs, looking 
excessively fierce and red in the face, and 
I subsequently discovered Emma encom- 
passed with letters, bills, and books, and 
dissolved in floods of tears. 

“ She has just given me notice!” she 
cried, alluding to our landlady ; “ and in- 


1 6 The Real Lady Hilda. 

deed, Gwen, after I pay her for the week, 
how much money do you think I have 
left?” She burst into a wild, hysterical 
laugh, and pushed across the table 
towards me a silver sixpence and two 
coppers. 

“ What — what is this ? ” I stammered. 
“ It’s eightpence. Can’t you see ? And 
it’s all we have in the world ! ” 

I remember that I turned it over 
mechanically, and giggled. I knew noth- 
ing of money matters. I had never had 
the spending of a sovereign in my life. 

I was aware that Emma was extrava- 
gant, that she never could resist what she 
called “ a bargain,” never could keep 
money in her pocket. It was quite one 
of her favorite jokes to exclaim, “ Bang 
goes another five-pound note ! ” 

I had participated in this jest with smil- 
ing equanimity, and the supreme confi- 


Waiting for the Lamp. 17 

dence of youth : I believed that my step- 
mother, and only relative, had an ample 
supply of money somewhere. But — eight- 
pence ! 

I stared at the two coppers and the little 
bit of silver in dismayed silence. 

“ Take off your hat, Gwen,” continued 
Emma, impetuously, “ and listen to me. 
I’m not fit to be trusted with money — 
never was ; I can’t keep it. ‘ Sufficient 
unto the day,’ has always been my motto. 
You, I can see, are prudent ; you are good 
at figures, old beyond your years. I sup- 
pose you take after your mother’s people, 
for your father was nearly as — as — ex- 
travagant and heedless as myself. Now 
I’m going to lay my affairs before you — 
place everything in your hands, and let 
you manage all our money.” 

“ Eightpence ! ” I repeated half under 
my breath. 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


“You know, we never saved a penny. 
I had a few hundreds of pounds from our 
auction, and I’ve spent that. A short life, 
and — a — a merry one ! ” looking at me 
with her pretty sapphire-colored eyes 
drowned in tears. “ We have had a good 
time, have we not? And I was certain 
that the dear old Jam-Jam, who was so fond 
of your father — and, indeed, with every 
reason — would give us a handsome pen- 
sion. But I have had a horrible letter by 
the mail just in. The Jam-Jam, who has 
been ailing for months — the new doctor 
did not understand his constitution — is 
dead. I am truly sorry.” A fresh burst 
of tears. 

“ Was all this grief for the Jam ? ” I 
asked myself, and stood confounded. 

“ My dear, we are paupers,” she sobbed. 
“ Mr. Watkins, the agent, says that the new 
rajah, the nephew, a detestable creature, 


Waiting for the Lamp. 19 

who I know never could endure me, will 
only give a hundred and thirty pounds a 
year, and that has been wrung from him 
with the greatest difficulty. And then, as 
if this letter was not enough , here is one 
from the bank, to say my account is over- 
drawn, and I thought I had three hundred 
pounds there still ! I never, I knew, kept 
a proper account. Just drew checks, and 
never or seldom filled up the tiresome 
counterfoils, and now there is their hideous 
bank-book, all so neatly made up : ‘ Self, 
ten pounds ; Self, forty pounds ; Self, 
twenty pounds.’ I can’t think what has 
become of it! I’m not used to keeping 
money, you see. I never bothered about 
putting down my expenses. Mrs. Keene 
brought me up these horrid letters, and 
came in too to ask about dinner, and I told 
her it was really shameful to charge two 
and sixpence for a cauliflower, and that we 


20 The Real Lady Hilda. 

really could not afford to pay her prices, 
and she was quite insolent. When I have 
paid her, we shall have just — this — this — 
eightpence ” 

And she dashed it over nearer to me, 
and, leaning her head on her arms, went 
off in hysterics. 


Retrospective. 


21 


CHAPTER II. 

retrospective. 

It would be a new experience for me to 
take the lead, to be manager, financier, 
adviser. When I had restored Emma, 
after some difficulty, and left her compar- 
atively composed — and armed with salts 
and fan — I ran up to my own room, locked 
the door, and sat down to think. Some- 
thing must be done immediately ; we ought 
to leave our extravagantly expensive lodg- 
ings without even a week’s delay. If Mrs. 
Keene would but let us off, it would save 
twelve guineas, and then we should have 
twelve pounds twelve shillings, to add to 
that ghastly eightpence. Mrs. Keene was 


22 The Real Lady Hilda. 

always very pleasant to me : I would 
muster up courage, and go and speak to 
her, and tell her that we had received un- 
expected news, and were obliged to re- 
trench. I must honestly confess that my 
heart beat fearfully fast as I knocked at 
the door of her sanctum, and heard her 
shrill “ come in.” 

The interview passed off much better 
than I anticipated — although the cauli- 
flower still rankled in her mind. She, 
fortunately for us, had just heard of what 
she termed “ a good let ” — old customers, 
who wished to come in immediately, and 
she agreed to our prompt departure with- 
out demur, saying with immense conde- 
scension, “ These sort of apartments are 
not suitable for any but wealthy folk, as 
can pay well, and is above fighting over 
vegetables ! ” 

She, however, gave me some useful 


Retrospective. 


23 


hints as to where to look for cheaper and 
humbler quarters. I hurried round to 
Madame Ninette, and countermanded my 
new dress, and, after a hasty lunch, 
Emma and I set out in quest of apartments 
in keeping with our means. We searched 
on foot the whole of that warm June after- 
noon, and at last discovered two neat, 
cheap little rooms over a dairy in a street 
in Chelsea. We took them on the spot, 
and returned to pack our belongings. I 
packed everything ; for Emma, between 
the emotions of the morning and the miles 
we had trudged in the sun, was com- 
pletely exhausted, and I easily prevailed 
on her to sit on the sofa and rest. 

Beguiled by an amusing magazine, and 
a box of Fuller’s sweets — poor remnants 
of her little luxuries — she soon forgot all 
her sorrows, and to have seen her reclin- 
ing there, looking so pretty in her cool 


24 The Real Lady Hilda. 

black tea-gown, and dainty little beaded 
shoes, no one would have believed she had 
a care in the world. What a child she 
was in some ways ! As for myself, I was 
not yet eighteen, but I had accepted such 
a leaden load of responsibility that I began 
to feel an old woman. The next morning 
our luggage, books, plants, and umbrellas 
were packed in and on a cab, and we 
started off for Carlyle Buildings, our 
future residence. As soon as we had re- 
arranged our boxes, books, and plants, 
and given our meager orders — I was now 
housekeeper and purse-bearer — Emma sat 
down, as she expressed it, “ to face the 
future resolutely.” 

It was a great comfort that she owed no 
money, otherwise it was anything but a 
brilliant outlook. All that remained to 
her, when everything had been summed 
up, was her wardrobe, her jewelry, a small 


Retrospective. 25 

pension, and a large circle of Indian 
friends. 

We lived through, the winter on the 
proceeds of a splendid diamond bracelet, 
and the hopes of getting some Indian 
children. Yes, Emma entertained the not 
uncommon idea of setting up a happy 
home for the children of her acquaint- 
ances. She was as sanguine as possible. 
Nothing ever damped her good faith in 
the future, and “ a turn of luck.” 

“ I shall take a charming, sunny old 
place deep in the country, about twenty 
miles from London ; keep a nice pony-car- 
riage, cows, a donkey, French bonnes , and 
a governess, and charge two hundred a 
year. I shall easily collect a dozen children 
— twelve will be ample to begin with — 
and there, you see, is upwards of two 
thousand a year at once! The Blairs, 
and Joneses, and Smithsons, dear old 


26 The Real Lady Hilda. 

friends, will be only too thankful for the 
chance.” 

And, full of enthusiasm, she despatched 
many eager letters to the parents among 
her acquaintance ; but, strange to relate, 
not one of these correspondents availed 
herself of her kind proposals, though they 
wrote long, affectionate epistles, suggest- 
ing the offspring of other people ! Perhaps 
they were afraid that pretty little Mrs. 
Hayes, ever impulsive, extravagant, and 
gay, was too lively and erratic to take 
charge of their delicate darlings — besides, 
she was poor. 

Oh, that was a dreary winter, when we 
existed on hope deferred ! Emma was 
delicate — she had a troublesome cough ; 
she required dainties, flowers, books, 
amusements, variety. Her gay spirits 
were fitful ; she was not often on the top 
of the wave now, but liable to terrible fits 


Retrospective. 


27 


of weeping and depression. She wept for 
many things I could not obtain for her. 
For instance, for India — for the sun (the sun 
in London in January !), for her old serv- 
ants her old friends — where were they? 
Those abroad sent long, affectionate letters, 
occasional newspapers, and little presents ; 
those at home — well, at the moment there 
were none at home, none whose attachment 
would stand the strain of coming at least 
three miles to visit a shabby little widow, 
in very humble lodgings. I grew up that 
winter. I became ten years older. I learnt 
to market, to haggle, to housekeep, to con- 
coct beef-tea and puddings, to make a little 
money go a long way. I learnt the cheap 
shops, the cheap little joints. I used to 
go out with our thrifty landlady to the 
Marlborough Road on Saturday nights, 
and bring home such bargains ! I was 
thankful when the winter came to an end, 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


the days grew longer and lighter, and 
Emma recovered her health and her spirits. 
We partook of the season’s delights in a 
very mild and inexpensive form ; we went 
per ’bus to some picture-galleries, to the 
shilling places at concerts, and occupied 
chairs in the Row. Emma liked to sit 
there the whole afternoon, returning home 
by what we called “ our own green car- 
riage ” in time for our frugal tea. 

“ Oh, what a different life from what I 
have been accustomed to ! ” she complained 
to me one day. “ Watching from my 
penny chair the crowds and crowds of hap- 
py people streaming by, and never seeing 
one familiar face ! The scores of visitors 
your father and I put up in Jam-Jam-More 
— for races, picnics, dinners, shooting- 
parties, and I never see one of them. Do 
you think they are all out of town ? or do 
they catch sight of me and flee ? ” and she 


Retrospective. 


29 


laughed — such a dreary little laugh. “ Of 
course, I know that is nonsense, but it 
does seem so odd that I never come across 
any of what we used to call ‘ the cold- 
weather folks,’ except indeed Captain Gor- 
ing, and he gave me the cold shoulder — he 
barely raised his hat ; and young Randford 
— you remember I met him in Piccadilly ? 
— he did stop and speak to me, and said 
that he must try and come and call on me, 
and would look over his engagements and 
see what afternoon he could spare, and I 
never heard anything more about him. 
Would you believe it? — he spent three 
weeks with us in India, and welcome, and 
rode and drove our horses as if they were 
his own, and when he was leaving, he made 
such a fuss about his dearest, kindest, 
prettiest Mrs. Hayes ! ” 

“ That was India ? ” I ventured to sug- 
gest. 


30 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


“ Yes, India is one place — England 
another. I was a fool out there ! If 
I had not kept open house — a sort of 
pleasant hotel, where there was no bill — 
for all these thankless, selfish wretches, 
I should be driving in my carriage now, 

and as for you, dear old Gwen ” 

“ Oh, I shall do very well,” I inter- 
rupted. “ I wish you would not worry 
yourself about me.' n 

“ We always intended you to come out, 
enjoy yourself, and make a nice match 
perhaps. And we did not spend as much 
as we might have done on your edu- 
cation ; we thought it unnecessary, 
with the rupee at such ruinous ex- 
change. We never dreamt that you 
would have to earn your own bread — oh, 
never — never ! ” 

“ Never mind me, dear ! ” 

“ But I do mind — it is my duty to 


Retrospective. 


3i 


mind ! Who would have thought that 
your father would not live to be a fine 
hale old man of eighty ? He had a 
splendid constitution. Sometimes, when 
I used to be a little scared at our big bills, 
and suggested our trying to retrench, he 
always said, ‘ The old Jam- Jam will pro- 
vide for us ; he will give me a fine pen- 
sion. He has promised me twelve hun- 
dred a year. It is only when one feels 
young and active that one wants money. 
When I begin to feel anno domini, we 
will go home and live very comfortably 
at Bath or Cheltenham.’ And here have 
I come home all alone, and you and I 
have to struggle along on a hundred and 
thirty pounds a year — and — and my 
diamond ornaments.” 

I recollect that the poignant contrast 
between past and present so utterly over- 
whelmed poor Emma, that she could not 


32 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


restrain her tears, and suddenly rising 
from her seat, and signing to me to ac- 
company her, she departed with unusual 
precipitancy. 


A Question of Taste. 


33 


CHAPTER III. 

A QUESTION OF TASTE. 

It was indeed a most lamentable truth 
that I was not as accomplished as most 
of the girls of my age. I could not paint 
or play the violin, I had no knowledge 
of the German language, I was ignorant 
of the agile art of skirt-dancing, and could 
not ride a horse — much less a bicycle. 
However, Emma found consolation in the 
fact that I “ walked well, and carried my- 
self with grace ! ” 

“ This was satisfactory,” I assured her 
with a laugh, “ as I was never likely to 
have anything to carry me / As to walk- 
ing, I was bound to be a foot-passenger 

all my days.” 

3 


34 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


I spoke French fluently, played the 
piano and guitar, was an excellent needle- 
woman ; but these would scarcely justify 
me in seeking a place above that of a 
cheap governess or waiting-maid. The 
struggle for existence was now so fierce, 
the half-million surplus women were such 
keen competitors for bread, that life was 
nothing more nor less than one long 
hardly contested battle. I had grasped 
this fact, young as I was. I was a good 
accountant (whilst Emma could not do the 
simplest little sum in addition) ; and, as 
purse-bearer, many a weary half-hour I sat 
up at night, working out our little budget, 
and striving to make both ends meet. 

Yes, I w r as ostensibly the purse-bearer, 
and, if left a free hand, I could manage 
to balance our income ; but I was not in- 
dependent. Emma was subject to wild 
lavish outbursts of her old Indian gen- 


A Question of Taste. 35 

erosity ; she would overwhelm me with un- 
expected gifts — expensive gifts. I never 
knew when one of these awful surprises 
was in store for me — and also the accom- 
panying bill. 

I had long refrained from admiring any- 
thing in the shop windows. Nevertheless, 
I was endowed with a white chiffon par- 
asol, an opera cloak, three pairs of scarlet 
silk stockings, an exquisite silk and lace 
petticoat — I who so sadly wanted every- 
day gloves and boots. I wanted them 
subsequently for a considerable period. 
Remonstrance only brought tears, and at 
last I came to the conclusion that such 
outbursts were ungovernable impulses of 
Emma’s inborn, long-nurtured generosity ; 
that the disease was incurable, and these 
occasional attacks afforded her relief from 
an ever-pressing, maddening desire to 
lavish money ! 


36 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


My own mother had made a runaway 
match with my father, was sternly dis- 
owned by all her relatives, and cut off 
without even the proverbial shilling. She 
died when I was a month old, and I was 
subsequently sent to England. There I 
was received by two maiden ladies, “ who 
took entire charge of children from India, 
their arrangements being those of a family, 
and not of a school ” — vide the prospectus. 

With these good people I spent ten very 
happy — I may add, luxurious — years. It 
was an establishment solely suited to the 
children of the wealthy, and my father 
discharged all expenses with liberal and 
punctual hand. He held an excellent ap- 
pointment at the court of the native prince, 
and had married, eight years after my 
mother’s death, pretty, penniless Miss 
Burke, who happened to be on a visit to 
friends in his neighborhood. Her enemies 


A Question of Taste. 37 

declared that Miss Burke was an empty- 
headed, flighty little fool — vain, delicate, 
and wildly extravagant ; and that my 
father — who really required some one to 
manage his affairs, and curb his expensive 
tastes — would have been far wiser had he 
selected instead one of the excellent Miss 
Primmers — the Reverend Jeremiah Prim- 
mer’s well-brought-up missionary daugh- 
ters — and that such a match as he con- 
templated was madness, so far as improvi- 
dence and waste went — a mixture of oil 
and flame. Nevertheless, in spite of these 
prophets, who prophesied evil things, my 
father and his vivacious young Irish wife 
were excessively happy. They were 
both given to hospitality, were both 
easy-going and open-handed ; they liked 
India, Indian ways, and Indian friends. 
He only returned once to England to see 
me, and she but rarely, to refurbish her 


38 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


wardrobe — and pay me flying visits. 
Then she loaded me with gifts, treats, and 
caresses, and was so young, so pretty, and 
so merry, that she embodied my idea of a 
charming elder sister. I never, somehow, 
identified her as my stepmother — whom I 
mentally sketched as the old, wicked, long- 
nosed person pervading fairy tales. 
When I was fourteen, I was sent to an 
English school in Paris, and there I learnt 
to dance, to sing, and accompany myself 
on the guitar (it was such a nice portable 
instrument, suitable to India). It had 
been arranged that I was to join my people 
when I was eighteen, and already my out- 
fit was under discussion, my escort for the 
passage sought for, when the news arrived 
of my father’s sudden death. He had 
been killed by a fall from his horse, when 
out pigsticking, and Emma was returning 
home alone, a widow in straitened circum- 


A Question of Taste. 39 

stances. No, they had never saved one 
single rupee ; their two pairs of hands had 
ever been open. They entertained lav- 
ishly ; she dressed magnificently ; he kept 
several race-horses, and their household 
expenses were enormous. For they had 
caught some of the infection from their 
surroundings, and the recklessness and 
display of the palace was reflected in their 
home. All things considered, Emma bore 
the change in her circumstances with sur- 
prising equanimity. She rarely com- 
plained. She was so easily amused and 
interested, so easily roused to animation ; 
but it made me sad to note her wandering 
eye, when we were abroad, always scan- 
ning the crowd, in intent search for some 
familiar face, some one she knew in old 
days. 

And then her disappointments : the 
Sugdens, who scarcely deigned to bow to 




40 The Real Lady Hilda. 

her ; the Woden-Spunners, who invited 
us to a crush, and left us totally unnoticed 
all the evening — and the cabs and our 
gloves alone had come to seventeen shil- 
lings. Poor Emma explained to me, with 
pitiful eloquence, that the Woden-Spun- 
ners had never been intimate friends. 
However Emma was soon to discover that 
every one was not like the Woden- 
Spunners. 

One morning, we were shopping in the 
Army and Navy Stores — my father had 
always been a subscriber, and Emma clung 
to “ the Stores ” as if they embodied a 
faint, faint reflection of her more prosper- 
ous days. The various departments were 
crammed full, and I never remembered to 
have seen such a long double line of 
carriages in waiting, or such an assorted 
crowd of dogs in durance on the steps. 

Our purchases were, needless to say, 


A Question of Taste. 41 

moderate, and we carried them ourselves. 
They consisted on this occasion of a 
packet of candles, a packet of bloaters, an 
untrimmed straw hat, a pound of fresh 
butter, and two pounds of pressed beef. 

It was extremely warm — a sultry July 
day — as we toiled up to the turnery depart- 
ment. At the cornerof the stairs, a young 
man, who was flying down at breakneck 
speed, brushed against Emma ; he paused 
for a second to lift his hat and apologize, 
then exclaimed in quite another key — a 
key of cordial pleasure. 

“ Why, it’s Mrs. Hayes, I declare ! 
Where did you drop from ? I am delighted 
to see you ! ” 

As we were blocking up the landing, j 
moved on, and waited at the top of the 
stairs, leaving Emma and her newly dis- 
covered old friend — a friend who was sin- 
cerely glad to meet her — still conversing 


42 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


with great animation. Yes, I could read 
it in his gestures, and the expression of 
his back. He was tall and square-shoul- 
dered, his long frock-coat and shining top- 
bat adding to his stature. So far I had 
not caught a glimpse of his face. Pres- 
ently they turned and ascended together, 
still talking volubly. I believe that he 
imagined Emma to be alone, until she 
said, as she put her hand on my arm — 

“ This is my stepdaughter, Miss Hayes.” 

He glanced at me politely, then his 
casual glance suddenly changed into a 
long scrutinizing gaze of astonishment — 
no, not of admiration, inerely unqualified 
amazement. 

He was a good-looking young man, with 
a somewhat thin, aristocratic face, brown 
hair, brown eyes, and a light, reddish- 
brown mustache. 

“ I used to know your father, Miss 


A Question of Taste. 43 

Hayes. My people and I stayed with him 
in India, you know.” 

I did not know — how should I ? 

“ He was awfully good to me, and took 
me out shooting and elephant-catching.” 
Then, suddenly turning to Emma, he 
said, “ What are you going to do now ? 
It is one o’clock. Will you come and 
have lunch with me at the club, or will 
you lunch here ? ’’ 

“ Oh, here, thank you, since we are on 
the spot ; and I am told that the curries 
are celebrated.” 

“ All right, then, we will try the curry. 
Allow me to relieve you of your parcels.” 

In another second, and despite our vehe- 
ment expostulations, this smart young 
man was actually carrying our beef, blitter, 
and candles, and leading the way to the 
refreshment department. Five minutes 
later, we were seated at a little table, and 


44 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


Emma, with her gloves off and menu in 
hand, was, by our host’s desire, ordering 
our lunch. No, after all, it was much 
too hot for curry ; it was a day for mayon- 
naise and aspic jelly. He seemed most 
anxious to please my stepmother, and to 
make much of her. Poor Emma! she 
was unused to such attentions ; they 
brought a brilliant color to her cheek, 
and a sparkle to her eyes. She bright- 
ened up wonderfully under their in- 
fluence. 

Warm as the room was, I found myself 
rather “ out in the cold.” These two had 
so many subjects in common, so many 
topics which were closed to me. They 
talked of places and people I had never 
seen, of the great camp at Attock, of the 
rajah’s big shoot, and finally of that young 
man’s own relations. 

“ So you have not seen my mother since 


A Question of Taste, 45 

she stayed with you at Jam-Jam-More ? 
She and my father are abroad now, and I 
am off to South America in three days. 
I’ve been buying my kit here. Done a 
tremendous morning’s work. I’m com- 
bining business and pleasure. My father 
has considerable investments out there 
which he wants me to look after — then 
I’m going to the West Indies.” 

“ It seems to me you are never at home,” 
said Emma. 

“ No one ever is at home now. Home 
is the last place in which to look for people 
in these days. A great rage for rambling 
has seized old and young. We migrate 
to the South of Europe for the winter, 
show ourselves in town for a few weeks in 
the spring, and then start off again. I 
think the old people are far the worst — 
they set the example. I tell my mother 
she is like the wandering Jew.” 


46 The Real Lady Hilda. 

“ Does Lady Hildegarde never come to 
town ? ” 

“ No, not the last two years.” Then, 
looking over at me ; “ Did you have a good 
time this season, Miss Hayes ? ” 

“ A good time ! ” repeated Emma. 
“ Why, the poor child has never been 
anywhere. You forget ” 

“ Yes — yes, of course ; you could not 
take her. I wish my mother had been in 
London,” he continued genially. “ She 
would have been delighted to have chap- 
eroned her to no end of smart functions, 
and presented Miss Hayes at a drawing- 
room.” 

It was quite clear that this young man 
did not realize the fatal change in our 
circumstances. 

“ She has never been anywdiere,” con- 
tinued Emma — “ never been to a dance, 
or a race-meeting ” 


A Question of Taste, 47 

“ There is Sandown to-morrow, I’m a 
member ; will you come with me ? I can 
take two ladies. It ought to be a capital 
day : Eclipse Stakes, you know. I’ll meet 

you at Waterloo ” 

“ No, no, no,” interrupted Emma. “ I 

would not go, and, of course, Gwen ” 

She hesitated. No, certainly, I could 
not accompany this nameless young man 
alone. 

“ Well, look here,” he said impetuously. 
“ Let us do something to-morrow. This is 
Tuesday, and I’m off on Saturday morn- 
ing, and shall not be in England again 
for ages. Have you any engagement? ” 

“ No — none.” The very idea made her 
smile. 

“ Then what would you like to do ? 
Would you care to go up the river ? Start 
from Paddington about ten, go to Maiden- 
head, get a good boat, and lunch in the 


48 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


Cliveden Woods, or up some nice cool 
backwater, row down to Taplow, have tea 
at the inn, come back to town in time to 
dine and do the theater. How would that 
be?” 

“ Oh, Mr. Somers, you take away my 
breath ! The expedition up the river 
would be as much as we can manage, and 
delightful, would it not, Gwen ? ” appeal- 
ing to me. 

“ Yes,” I assented. “ Delightful indeed, 
if it won’t be too much for you f ” 

“ Not at all, my old-head-on-young- 
shoulders. She ” — to our host — “ takes 
such care of me, and manages all our 
affairs : she might be my mother ! We 
will accept the river part of the program.” 

“ Then that is quite settled. I meet 
you to-morrow at ten o’clock sharp at 
Paddington ? ” 

The room was now crammed, and I 


A Question of Taste. 49 

noticed that our companion had a bowing 
or nodding acquaintance with many cus- 
tomers. 

“ Your sister is married ? ” observed 
Emma. “ I saw it in the papers. You 
are not married, are you? ” 

“ Perish the thought ! I am ” 

“ Oh, Kverard ! ” cried a clear, high- 
bred voice, and a tall, fair, supercilious- 
looking girl halted at our table. “ Fancy 
seeing you here, lunching in the Army 
and Navy Stores among your parcels,” 
glancing at our belongings. “ How very 
domestic ! ” 

“ I have just met an old Indian friend,” 
he explained, rather consciously. “ And 
we are having tiffin together, as you see.” 

“ Oh, I see,” staring straight at me, 
with a look of arrogant inquiry, which 
made me color warmly : well, yes, call it 

blushing. Why should I blush ? I had 
4 


5o 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


never met this man till half an hour ago, 
and here was this ultra-smart young 
woman in a French bonnet standing over 
me, her pale blue eyes distinctly telling 
me that I was a designing adventuress. 

“ Mrs. Hayes,” he said, “ this is my 
sister, Lady Polexfen.” Emma bowed, 
and Lady Polexfen lowered her eyelashes. 
“ I was just speaking of you, Maudie,” 
he added. “ Talk of an angel, you know. 
We stayed with Mrs. Hayes in India. It 
was at her house my mother was so ill.” 

“ Indeed ! ” indifferently, now turning 
her bracelet to consult her watch. 

“ Mind you turn up in good time to- 
morrow. We are going down to San down 
on the coach. Dolly Chalgrove is com- 
ing.” She paused for a second, as if to 
allow sufficient time for this impressive 
piece of news to soak thoroughly into his 
mind. 


A Question of Taste. 51 

“ And, remember, if you keep us wait- 
ing, as you often do, you will discover 
that I am anything but an angel ! ” 

“ I won’t keep you waiting,” responded 
her brother, serenely, “ for the excellent 
reason that I’m not going to Sandown ! 
I’m going up the river instead.” 

“ And breaking your other engage- 
ments ? ” she asked sharply. 

“ I can’t see that at all. It was left an 
open question.” 

“ Was it ! ” she exclaimed, in a still 
sharper key. And again she looked over 
at me with a gleam in her eye, and I 
could see that, cool as she tried to appear, 
she was furiously angry ; indeed, her 
voice trembled a little as she added, “ Well, 
of course, it is merely a question of taste ! ” 

And this was her last word — her parting 
shot. With an overwhelmingly haughty 
bow — to be distributed amongst us — Lady 


52 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


Polexfen swept away, and joined two 
gentlemen and a lady, who had been 
interested spectators of the recent slight 
passage at arms. Speaking for myself, 
I felt decidedly uncomfortable, and it was 
some seconds before I ventured to look at 
our host. Yes, undoubtedly he had red- 
dened a little (whether with anger or shame 
I could not guess), and was carefully 
filling Emma’s wine-glass. 

“ How very pretty your sister is ! ” she 
ventured with great magnanimity, en- 
deavoring to take the rough edge off our 
thoughts. “ I never saw a more delicate 
profile ! She is a little like Lady Hilde- 
garde.” 

“Yes, she resembles my mother a good 
deal in many ways, and, being her only 
daughter, she has been a bit spoiled — al- 
ways -wants her own way, as you may see.” 

“ And now, Mr. Somers,” continued 


A Question of Taste. 53 

Emma, “ you will not make a stranger 
of me , nor allow me to accept any little 
arrangements your sister has made. You 
must postpone our trip. You know you 
can take us up the river any time! ” 

But to this suggestion he would not 
listen, and displayed a will fully as robust 
as his relative’s. In fact, he became al- 
most angry at last, and Emma was com- 
pelled to succumb. 

We accordingly spent a delightful, 
never-to-be-forgotten afternoon on the 
river, rowed here and there, as fancy 
dictated, by two stalwart boatmen. Mr. 
Somers, in a sailor hat and flannels, oc- 
casionally took an oar himself, and even 
gave me a lesson. A dainty luncheon 
had been provided, which we discussed 
under cool green branches, up a deliciously 
sequestered backwater ; then followed 
the row down to Taplow, and our tea at 


54 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


the inn : in fact, every item of the pro- 
gram was conscientiously carried out; 
and during that long summer’s day, in 
the intimacy of picnicking and boating, 
Mr. Somers and I made extraordinary 
strides in advancing our acquaintance. 

We parted reluctantly at Paddington 
Station, full of plans for the morrow. We 
were to lunch with Mr. Somers again, and 
accompany him to a very private view of 
most lovely Indian paintings. Emma 
struggled hard against this second en- 
croachment on his time, and struggled as 
vainly as any kid in the folds of a boa 
constrictor ! 

“ Of course,” he said, half playfully, 
“ if she had something better on hand, and 
was already tired of his society ” 

And what could she answer ? She 
could only murmur deprecating ejacula- 
tions of dissent, assent, and gratitude. 


A Question of Taste. 55 

As we drove home in a hansom (a rare 
extravagance), exchanging voluble rap- 
tures, an obtrusive chill little idea sud- 
denly got in and sat down between us. 

What were we to wear ? A serge skirt 
and a shirt had done very well for the 
river ; but for a smart luncheon at a smart 
club, for an exclusive gathering at a pri- 
vate view, where possibly all the gowns 
would be carefully noted down and de- 
scribed in the papers, our now rusty black 
dresses would be, oh, so sadly out of place ! 

“ It does not matter so much about me, 
dear,” said Emma, “ but you. I am so 
sorry now that your best crepon came in 
for that shocking wetting last Sunday. 
Oh, why did I not take a cab?” she ex- 
claimed regretfully. “ And your poor 
hat received its death-blow. This is no 
climate for ostrich feathers — not like 
India, where you can wear your best 


56 The Real Lady Hilda. 

frocks and hats for months without one 
moment’s anxiety, and when the rains do 
come it is not before they have given at 
least a week’s notice ! ” 

“ And that drenching shower, not giv- 
ing one second — beyond half a dozen 
immense drops, and after that the deluge ! 
However, I can curl the feathers up, press 
out my skirt, and, with a new pair of 
gloves, perhaps I can manage to pass in 
a crowd ! ” 

Really, we did not present at all such a 
bad appearance as we emerged from our 
lodgings next morning, nor did we feel 
beneath the occasion, at our very pleasant 
and recherche lunch. It was only when 
we got among the present season’s new 
dresses, and stood side by side with the 
latest and most costly fashions, that our 
poor black feathers looked a little battered 
and draggled ! 


A Question of Taste. 57 

I saw it myself, but Mr. Somers did not. 
No, no, all his attention was occupied in 
entertaining us — in showing us the best 
pictures, the most popular or unpopular 
celebrities, the beauties, the political stars, 
and the leaders of fashion. Among these 
I noted, without his assistance, his own 
sister, Lady Polexfen. She was dressed 
in a large white hat, and filmy summer 
gown, this warm July day, and was 
sauntering around, attended by a military 
man, occasionally scanning people or 
pictures, with a long-handled eyeglass. 
After a time, we came into its range ! 

I turned away hastily, for I had no 
desire to encounter her ladyship, and af- 
fected to be absorbed in a beautiful sketch 
of sunrise on the Jumna, and the Taj ! 
This was a much-admired gem, and the 
crowd gathered closely around it. 

I hoped that Lady Polexfen had already 


58 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


passed by. Then I heard her voice say, 
close behind me, “ My dear Everard ! ” 
Then, in fluent French, “ What on earth 
are you doing here, dragging about these 
shabby, second-rate women ? Have you 
lost your senses ? And you know this is 
a place where every one sees every one.” 

“ So it seems ! ” he answered, in equally 
fluent French, u but there is no occasion 
for you to see me. These shabby people, 
as you call them, are not second-rate, but 
first-rate.” 

“ The Marchioness of Kinsale pointed 
you out to me, and laughed. She was so 
amused at my eccentric brother.” 

“ Horrid, painted old harridan ! ” he 
answered, now roused to aggression. “ I 
would not be seen speaking to her, if I 
were you ; but, then, you are not particu- 
lar, as long as a woman has a handle to 
her name and a bran-new gown to 


A Question of Taste. 59 

her back ! Now, / prefer the society of 

ladies .' 1 ' 1 

“ Oh, very well, very well,” in a choked 
voice. “ Pray, pray go your own way, 
and you’ll see where it lands you. Only, 
don’t come to me for advice and assist- 
ance ! ” And here, as Emma turned and 
asked me for the catalogue, our neighbor- 
hood was, perhaps, suspected, for Lady 
Polexfen’s remonstrances ceased, and pres- 
ently I saw her large picture-hat slowly 
passing through a doorway into another 
room. 

As Emma had not caught sight of her, 
I kept this delightful experience entirely 
to myself. It certainly rather threw a 
cloud over the pleasure of my day — a cloud 
which, I must confess, Mr. Somers — so 
cheery, so courteous, so chivalrous, so de- 
termined to treat us as great ladies — did 
much to dispel. 


6o 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


As we took leave of him, and thanked 
him warmly for all the pleasure he had 
given us, he looked hard at me from 
under the brim of his tall hat, and said — 

“ The pleasure has been conferred by 
Mrs. and Miss Hayes, and I trust that 
this will not be the last day by many that 
we shall spend together.” 

Next morning brought a messenger with 
a note from Mr. Somers, and a quantity 
of lovely flowers. Of course, I read this 
note, which was written in a bold, black, 
determined sort of hand ; it said — 

“ Dear Mrs. Hayes, 

“ I hope you are none the worse 
for yesterday’s excursion. I send you a 
few flowers. I remember how fond you 
were of them and your wonderful garden 
at Jam-Jam-More. I have ventured to tell 
my florist to supply you constantly. I am 


A Question of Taste. 61 

very busy getting under weigh. I start 
the first thing to morrow. Kind regards 
to Miss Hayes and yourself. 

“ Yours sincerely, 

“ E. Somers. 

“ P.S. — I find I have some of the books 
you mentioned that you woulddike to read, 
and am sending them round to you.” 

The books (a huge parcel of the newest 
publications) duly arrived ; most of them 
had never been cut ! I’m afraid Mr. 
Somers stretched a point when he said he 
had them. Choice flowers recalled him 
to our minds three times a week, and it 
did not need the fragrant roses, carnations, 
and lilies to remind Emma of one Indian 
guest who had not forgotten her. 

The autumn went by without any in- 
cident, save that Emma’s strength and 


62 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


spirits flagged. The memory of that day 
on the river had visited her for weeks ; but 
what is one happy day out of three hun- 
dred and sixty-five — one swallow in a sum- 
mer ? 

We were now at Stonebrook on her ac- 
count. Her doctor had forbidden her to 
spend the winter season in town, and or- 
dered her to Sussex ; and although (as I 
have hinted) our locality and abode were 
not particularly exhilarating, still, I was 
by no means sorry to get away from Lon- 
don. 


Lady Hildegarde’s Photograph. 63 


CHAPTER IV. 

LADY HILDEGARDE’S PHOTOGRAPH. 

After waiting twenty minutes in semi- 
darkness (poor people must exercise pa- 
tience), the lamp — welcome herald of tea 
— was carried in by Mrs. Gabb, whose 
expressive countenance distinctly warned 
off either questions or expostulations. 
She proceeded to dash down the blinds, 
bang the shutters, coal-scuttle, fire-irons, 
and finally the door. 

By lamplight our little apartment did 
not look nearly so mean and shabby as 
by day. Emma had marvelous taste in 
an airy, sketchy style — a taste which, she 
assured me, was common to many Anglo- 


64 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


Indian ladies, who were frequently com- 
pelled to make a very little furniture go 
a long way, and who were unsurpassed in 
the art of makeshifts. Some grasses and 
winter berries filled several bowls and 
vases ; a few pretty Bastern ornaments 
were scattered about ; an Indian drapery 
was thrown carelessly over the sofa. A 
smart paper lamp-shade and two or three 
silk cushions brightened up the room, and 
last, not least, a considerable gallery of 
photographs. They caught the eye on 
all sides, and had a truly imposing effect. 
Emma had been twelve years in the Bast, 
and had accumulated many portraits. 
Here was a smart cavalry man — an 
A.D.C. ; there an imposing general officer 
covered with orders ; a Ghoorka, a hill 
beauty, a polo pony, an Indian picnic, a 
wedding group, a lady in a rickshaw, hold- 
ing over herself a coquettish Japanese um- 


Lady Hildegarde’s Photograph. 65 

brella. They made indeed a goodly show, 
and as Emma remarked, “ putting senti- 
ment altogether on one side, were easily 
carried about, and went a long way to- 
wards furnishing a shabby sitting-room.” 
Whilst the tea was drawing, I tidied up, 
swept the hearth, straightened the lamp- 
shade, collected and put away straggling 
books and papers. Meanwhile, Emma 
drew forth a pack of somewhat passle 
cards, cleared a space on the table, and 
proceeded to deal them out in four neat 
rows. 

“ I am going to do your fortune,” she 
announced. “ This is your birthday. I 
wish it had not come on a Friday ; how- 
ever, let me see. Oh, dear, dear, dear! 
All the bad cards are settling round you. 
Tears, a disappointment ! there is sickness, 
you see ; a journey, a dark man, and a 
dark woman ; she is antipathetic to you, 


66 The Real Lady Hilda. 

and will injure you. Yes. Look, I have 
counted again ; she comes right between 
you and the marriage card ! You will get 
your wish.” 

“ But I have not thought of any wish.” 

“ Ah ! and I see money ; but here is this 
horrible ace of spades — the death card.” 

At this instant we heard a strange voice, 
and a sound of scuffling steps in the pas- 
sage. 

“ Some one is coming ! ” I had barely 
uttered the warning, and Emma had only 
time to throw a newspaper over the pack, 
when Mrs. Gabb, flinging open the door, 
shrilly announced, “ Miss Skuce.” 

Whereupon a tall elderly lady, in a long 
damp waterproof, bounced into the room, 
showing every one of her front teeth. 

“ Pray excuse my calling at this late 
hour,” she said, shaking hands with us 
effusivety. “ At least, it is not really late, 


Lady Hildegarde’s Photograph. 67 

only half-past four, quite visiting time 
still ; but it is so dark, it might be the 
middle of the night.” 

To which statement we politely as- 
sented, and also further conceded “ that it 
had been a shockingly wet day.” 

“ And how do you like dear little Stone- 
brook ? ” she asked. “ If you’ll allow me, 
I’ll just take off my cloak.” 

“ Oh, it is not very lively,” replied 
Emma ; “ but then, I came here for my 
health.” 

“ Ah, indeed,” rising to hang her water- 
proof carefully over a chair, and taking a 
seat nearer to Emma whom she stared at 
exhaustively. 

Emma, though thin and fragile, was 
still a pretty woman. She wore a hand- 
some black satin and lace tea-gown (a 
remnant of better days) ; diamonds (of 
ditto) sparkled on her wasted hands, and 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


her expressive eyes were lit up with vivac- 
ity. Even this unexpected visit from a 
garrulous old maid made quite an agreea- 
ble break in the otherwise dreary wet day. 

“ How long shall you stay, do you 
think ? ” 

“ I really have not formed any plans — 
possibly all the winter.” 

“ And Miss ,” looking at me inter- 

rogatively. “ Surely not your daughter ? ” 

“ No, my stepdaughter — Miss Hayes.” 

“ It’s a terrible dull place for young 
people, especially if they are accustomed 
to India,” smiling at me blandly. 

“ I have never been in India since I was 
two mouths old,” I replied with precip- 
itation. 

“ 'But you were ? ” she observed, turning 
to Emma. “ And army — of course ? ” in 
a confidential key. 

“ No. My husband had an appoint- 


Lady Hildegarde’s Photograph. 69 

ment at the court of the Rajah of 
Jam-Jam-More. He was his medical ad- 
viser.” 

“Ah, I understand” — in a patronizing 
key — “ a native doctor ! ” 

“ Oh no ! ” bursting into a merry laugh ; 
“ doctor to a native prince.” 

“ Dear me ! Is it not the same thing ? 
How nice this room looks ! Your own 
pretty things, I am sure. What quanti- 
ties of charming photographs! May I 
peep at them ? ” — rising with a sprightly 
air. 

“ Oh, certainly, with pleasure. But they 
are chiefly Indian friends — and I doubt if 
you will find them interesting.” 

“ I am always interested in other peo- 
ple’s friends. But what do I behold ? ” — 
striking an attitude — “ a bunch of pea- 
cock’s feathers ! So unlucky ! Why do 
you keep them, dear Mrs. Hayes ? ” 


7o 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


“ They belong to Mrs. Gabb — not to me 
— you must ask her.” 

“And you are not superstitious? Table- 
turning, palmistry, second sight, plan- 
ckette : do you believe in any of those ? ” 

“ I don’t think I have much faith in any 
of them — no, not even planchette — though 
I heard a horrible story of a planchette 
who aggravated inquirers by writing such 
horrible things, that one man, in a rage, 
pitched it into the fire when it imme- 
diately gave a diabolical scream, and flew 
up the chimmey.” 

At this little anecdote I broke into a 
loud laugh — I invariably did so. 

“ Of course, that was arrant nonsense ! ” 
remarked Miss Skuce, carefully replacing 
the peacock’s feathers, and recommencing 
a tour of inspection. 

I watched her attentively, with her 
pointed nose, near-sighted eyes, looped- 


Lady Hildegarde’s Photograph. 71 

up skirts, with a rim of chalky mud, and 
square-toed laced boots — shaped like pie- 
dishes — as she made a deliberate exami- 
nation of Emma's little gallery, throwing 
us remarks over her shoulder from time 
to time. 

“ I always make a point of calling on 
new people — strangers,” she announced 
from over the edge of a large durbar 
group. “ They must find it so desperately 
dull, and I’m an old resident. My brother 
is a doctor. Most of the neighbors don’t 
visit ; they draw the line at the hotel, and 
never notice people in lodgings, since that 
awful scandal at Mrs. Tait’s, three years 
ago. I cannot — ahem — repeat the story, 
just now ,” and she looked at me expres- 
sively ; “ but I will tell you all about it 
another time. I dare say the rectory 
people may come. At any rate ” — casting 
an appreciative glance at Emma’s unex- 


7 2 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


pectedly elegant appearance — “ I shall 
make a point of mentioning you to 
them.” 

“ Oh, thank you very much, but we 
are only here for a change,” protested 
Emma ; “ the doctors said I must have 
dry bracing air, and ” 

“ What have I got here? ” interrupted 
our visitor, who had been routing on the 
chimney-piece, behind a fire-screen. “ A 
large photograph of dear Lady Hildegarde 
Somers ! ” holding it in both hands as if 
it were some holy relic. “ How did you 
come by it ? ” she demanded, in an im- 
pressive key. 

“ She gave it to me, of course,” was 
Emma’s simple reply. 

Miss Skuce’s little eyes widened as she 
stood on the rug, clasping her treasure- 
trove, and contemplating Emma with an 
air of tragic interrogation. 


Lady Hildegarde’s Photograph. 73 

“ Then you know her ? ” she gasped 
out at last. 

“ Intimately. At least, she stayed in our 
house in India for six weeks, so I suppose 
I may say that I know her rather well.” 

Miss Skuce was now compelled to seek 
a seat, and signed to my stepmother to 
continue. 

“ My husband and I had numbers of 
visitors in the cold weather ; they came to 
see the Jam-Jam, and the old tombs and 
temples, and we put them up in our house, 
and got them shooting and sport.” 

“ What kind of sport ? ” questioned her 
listener. 

“ Sometimes tiger-shooting, sometimes 
hunting with cheetahs, sometimes ele- 
phant-catching or pigsticking.” 

“ Oh ! ” ejaculated Miss Skuce, who was 
visibly impressed. 

“ You see, my husband had a capital 


74 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


appointment, though he was uncove- 
nanted. He drew large pay, and was sup- 
plied, besides, with carriages and horses, 
a house and servants.” 

“ How very nice ! And about her lady- 
ship ? ” 

“ Oh, Lady Hildegarde and Mr. Somers 
and their son came to us for ten days, but 
she unfortunately got a touch of the sun, 
and was laid up for weeks. My husband 
attended her, I nursed her, and we did 
all we possibly could for her. She was a 
charming patient, and so grateful. Mr. 
Somers and his son went on to the frontier, 
and left her with us during her convales- 
cence. She joined them in Bombay. I 
have never seen her since I came to 
England.” 

“ Really. How strange ! ” 

“ But I met her son in London last 
summer. Such a handsome, unaffected 


Lady Hildegarde’s Photograph. 75 

young fellow (my poor husband took a 
great fancy to him). He was just on the 
eve of starting off to America, but he 
managed to give us two delightful days — 
one of them on the rivet — and was alto- 
gether most kind. He told me that his 
father and mother were abroad. I have 
quite lost sight of the whole family now. 
I don’t even know where they live when 
they are at home. I have lost sight of 
so many people,” added Emma, with a 
regretful sigh. 

“ Not know where the Somers live ! ” 
repeated Miss Skuce. “ Why, my dear 
Mrs. Hayes, they live within three miles 
of where you are sitting ! — at Coppingham 
Abbey, the show place of this part of the 
world. The Somers of Coppingham are 
not rich — as riches are understood now 
— and I am afraid poor dear old Mr. Som- 
ers has lost a great deal of money over 


76 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


mines in South America, and stocks — he 
was never a business man ; but the family 
are as old as the hills. Miss Somers made 
a splendid match last year, she married 
Lord Polexfen ; certainly lie is rather 
ancient for her , but then you cannot have 
everything. Maudie is very handsome, but 
frightfully ambitious, worldly, haughty ; 
quite, qziite between ourselves — / never 
took to Maudie.” 

I heartily but secretly applauded this 
sentiment. 

“ Of course, it was not a love-affair — 
respect on one side, admiration on the 
other — and, as I have told you, Maudie 
could not expect everything, and — and 
she thought ” 

“ That an old lord was better than none 
at all,” I supplemented briskly. 

“ Oh, I would not say that , by any 
means,” returned Miss Skuce, rather 


Lady Hildegarde’s Photograph. 77 

stiffly. (It was evident that no one else 
was to be permitted to censure this august 
young woman.) “ The family are fre- 
quently abroad now, but are always here 
in December and January. And so, you 
tell me, you know dear Lady Hildegarde 
intimately ? ” 

And she paused and surveyed Emma 
with her head on one side. It was abundant- 
ly demonstrated by our visitor’s face and 
gestures that, from being strangers in the 
land — mere wandering, homeless nobodies 
— we had been suddenly promoted to the 
footing of people of distinction, the inti- 
mate friends of the mistress of the show 
place of the county. The alteration in 
Miss Skuce’s manner was as amusing as 
it was abrupt — from an air of easy patron- 
age to an attitude of humble and admiring 
deference — the transition was absolutely 
pantomimic. 


78 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


“ Dear Lady Hildegarde is the moving 
spirit of the whole neighborhood,” she 
remarked. “ She is so active, her ideas are 
so full of originality, her energy is mar- 
velous ; no one would believe that she has 
a married daughter, and a son of seven- 
and-twenty. And she is so fond of having 
young people about her. I am certain that 
she will be immensely taken with this 
pretty child,” indicating me with a wave 
of the photograph in her hand. “ She 
will introduce her to all the best people ; 
she will have her stay at the Abbey, and 
give a ball for her, of that I feel confident.” 

“ Oh no, no ! Absurd ! Nonsense ! ” 
protested Emma, with a beaming smile. 
But, unless I was much mistaken, the 
long seven-leagued boots of Emma’s imag- 
ination had carried her far ahead of Miss 
Skuce’s gratifying predictions. An agree- 
able idea once planted in her mind, im- 


Lady Hildegarde’s Photograph. 79 

mediately struck root, grew, and flour- 
ished, like Jack’s immortal beanstalk. 

“ How I wish you had let me know that 
you were a friend of Lady Hildegarde’s,” 
continued Miss Skuce, effusively, “ instead 
of remaining, if I may say so, so foolishly 
incog. The Bennys of the Dovecote, and 
the Prouts, will be overwhelmed to think 
that they have not called. Her ladyship 
will say we have all neglected you ! I 
hope the people here are satisfactory? 
Mrs. Gabb has rather a tongue, but she 
is very clean. Are you comfortable, dear 
Mrs. Hayes? ” 

“ Yes, thank you ; I might be worse.” 

“ I must send you some fresh eggs. 
How are you off for literature ? ” 

“ In a starving condition. I’ve not seen 
a new book for months.” 

“ Oh, then we will all supply you ! I 
notice that you take the Sussex Figaro ,” 


8o 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


lifting the paper with a sudden swoop, and 
thereby discovering the neatly arranged 
rows of playing cards ! 

It would be difficult to say which of the 
two ladies looked the more taken aback 
and out of countenance. Miss Skuce 
stood for a second with her mouth half 
open, paper in hand. Binma became 
scarlet, as she hastily scrambled the cards 
together. 

“ So you play patience, I see,” said our 
visitor, after a pause, and with really ad- 
mirable presence of mind. 

“ Oh, anything, everything, from e carte 
to — to old maid, pour passer le temps. I 
hope you will have some tea. Gwen, what 
have we been thinking about ? Come 
along and pour it out.” 

In ten minutes’ time, Miss Skuce had 
nearly emptied her third cup, and, enliv- 
ened by the fragrant herb, had become 


Lady Hildegarde’s Photograph. 81 

most talkative and confidential, and de- 
veloped a truly warm interest in us and 
our concerns. 

Emma was advised whom she was to 
know, and whom she must not know on 
any account ; where she was to deal, 
whose fly she was to hire for parties — all 
was laid before her in detail. A stranger 
entering the room would naturally have 
supposed that this eager lady, who was 
nursing her empty teacup, was an old 
and intimate friend. 

Finally, with lavish promises of eggs, 
books, and flowers, Miss Skuce, as she 
expressed it, “ tore herself away.” She 
must have managed to whisper a few 
words on the stairs or in the passage, for 
when Mrs. Gabb came to remove the 
things, she wore an unusually benign as- 
pect ; there was no angry banging and 
clanging of unoffending and inanimate 


82 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


articles. On the contrary, she poked the 
fire with an extravagant hand, drew the 
curtains noiselessly, and remarked in a 
surprisingly affable tone that “ she had 
made us a nice little batter pudding, ” 
and “ that it was a wet night.” 

So much for numbering a large photo- 
graph of a local magnate among our 
household gods ! If her mere portrait had 
wrought such an agreeable transformation 
in visitor and landlady, what might we 
not expect from the presence of Lady 
Hildegarde herself ? 


We Get Into Society. 


83 


CHAPTER V. 

WE GET INTO SOCIETY. 

Emma’s bedroom was immediately be- 
neath mine, and during the night I heard 
her coughing repeatedly, a nasty little 
short hacking cough. I went to her early 
in the morning, in order to condole with her 
and urge her to remain in bed ; but she 
was already dressed. 

“ Kept me awake, my cough, you say ? 
Yes, but I did not mind,” was her extra- 
ordinary statement. “ I did not want to 
sleep, I had so much to think about — so 
many pleasant thoughts.” 

“ / know what you have been thinking 
about,” I said, as we sat down to break- 


8 4 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


fast — “ or, rather, of whom you have been 
thinking — of Lady Hildegarde.” 

“ Of course — why not ? I have not seen 
her for four years and more — nearly five 
— but she is not the sort of person who 
would ever change ; and really, I hope you 
won’t think it very mean of me to say it, 
but she is under obligations to me, and I 
am not too proud to allow her to repay me. 
I nursed her for weeks, and we gave her 
the best nourishment, medical attendance, 
champagne, ice, all gratis, the rajah’s own 
saloon carriage to the junction, and, when 
she said good-by, she seemed really quite 
affected, and gave me two large photo- 
graphs of herself, and kissed me over and 
over, and said, ‘ I cannot find words to ex- 
press all I fee/, but I shall never, never, 
never forget you — my own sister would 
not have done more ! You have saved my 
life, and you will, I hope, find some day 


We Get Into Society. 85 

that I am a woman of deeds — not words ! ’ 
And now, here is her opportunity. What 
a piece of luclc our coming here ! Just by 
chance ! We knew no one in London, 
and I was too ill latterly to take you 
about ; here Lady Hildegarde will be your 
sponsor in society and introduce you every- 
where. Her own daughter is married, 
and she is very fond of going out and 
chaperoning girls — she told me so. I 
must see alxmt your dresses, my dear. 
I have a lovely white satin that I only 
wore once, and that will alter quite easily 
for you ! ” 

Emma was radiant. Positively she 
looked ten years younger than she had 
done yesterday. Ah ! hope, delusive hope, 
how many flattering tales had you not 
told her ! One drop of this elixir of life 
seemed to intoxicate her. Give her, figura- 
tively, a stick, or a pebble, and straw, — 


86 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


what grand castles she created and peo- 
pled. Sometimes, as we sat over the fire 
together, her eloquent tongue and facile 
imagination drew forecasts and anticipa- 
tions so brilliant and so vivid that I could 
compare them to nothing but fairy stories, 
or the Arabian Nights Entertainments. 

After breakfast, when I was out doing 
our insignificant marketing, I noticed Miss 
Skuce at a distance, with both hands up- 
lifted, her chin wagging vigorously, hold- 
ing forth at great and uninterrupted 
length to two ladies, who seemed inter- 
ested. I also caught sight of her at our 
mutual grocer’s — she was purchasing 
eggs, which she carried off, packed in saw- 
dust, in a paper bag. Surely — surely 

However, time would tell (time does tell 
on eggs.) 

That afternoon, by three o’clock, our 
little room was full of visitors — we were 


Wc Get Into Society. 87 

positively short of chairs ! Miss Skuce 
was the first arrival — carrying in her 
hand a present in a basket (it contained 
eggs and flowers.) The Misses Benny, 
extremely exclusive spinsters from the 
Dovecote, appeared bearing their mama’s 
card and excuses — prim, long-nosed wo- 
men, wearing severe tailor-made dresses, 
prim felt hats with one wing, and attired 
alike even to their gold bangles and brown 
kid gloves. 

“ We heard from Miss Skuce that you 
are a great friend of Lady Hildegarde’s,” 
said the elder of the sisters, addressing 
Emma in a high-pitched, shrill voice. 
“ Indeed, I see her over there on the chim- 
ney-piece ! You knew her in India, did 
yon not? ” 

“ Yes,” assented Emma. “ I knew her 
very well.” 

“ I dare say you will see a great deal of 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


her. She adores India, and brought home 
such lovely curios — embroidery, rugs, 
ivory work, and such a sweet little silver 
teapot the shape of an elephant.” 

“ Yes, I remember it — my husband gave 
it to her,” returned Emma, eagerly. 

“ Ah, you don’t say so ! I hope we 
shall see you on Thursday. We want you 
to come over to tea at the Dovecote, just 
outside the town, at four o’clock. We 
hope to have a few people and a little 
music. Your daughter sings, I believe ? ” 

“ Thank you, we shall be very happy.” 

“ I suppose you have not made many 
acquaintances here, as yet?” 

“ No ; no one has called but Miss 
Skuce.” 

“ Oh,” smiling, “ she calls on every one 
— so like her ! She finds out all about 
strangers, and she is nicknamed the 
‘ Stonebrook News.’ She is a well-mean- 


We Get Into Society. 


89 


ing person, but dreadfully pushing- — you 
must really keep lier in her place. Lady 
Hildegarde puts her down so beautifully.” 

“ But I understand that Lady Hilde- 
garde is a particular friend of hers ? ” 

“ Of hers ! — of Miss Skuce’s ! ” in a loud 
voice. “ Oh, dear me, what has she been 
telling you ? She is never invited to the 
Abbey, except once a year to the dignity 
ball here — and Lady Hildegarde merely 
makes use of her at bazaars and charity 
teas.” 

The departing Bennys met in the nar- 
row doorway Lady Bloss and Miss Bloss, 
the former a commanding matron in black 
velvet, with a miniature catafalque upon 
her stately head — aquiline, portly, im- 
mensely condescending, with a very large 
person and a small squeaky voice. 

“ So pleased to find you at home,” offer- 
ing two fat fingers, and looking round anx- 


9o 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


iously for a solid seat. “ My daughter, 
Miss Bloss. I heard you were a very in- 
timate friend of my dear cousin, Lady 
Hildegarde Somers. Some one happened 
to mention it when I was in the post-office, 
so I thought, as I was in town, I would 
just run over and see you ! ” 

The idea of Lady Bloss running any- 
where was too preposterous to entertain 
without smiles. 

“ And how do you like our little town ? 
And were you long in India? ” — and so on 
and so on. “ And will you come to tea 
next week? I’ll send you a card.” And 
then she struggled up from her low seat, 
beckoned to her daughter, and really the 
room looked quite empty after their de- 
parture ! 

Little Mrs. Cholmondeley, the wife of a 
M. F. H., was still with us — a smart, fash- 
ionable-looking woman, with sandy hair 


We Get Into Society. 91 

and a long-handled eye-glass, by means 
of which she noted everything. 

“ Lady Bloss is quite too amusing,” 
she remarked, after she had sped that 
lady most affectionately, and asked her 
why she had not been to see her for such 
ages ? “ She is no more cousin to Lady 

Hildegarde than to the man in the moon ; 
her husband was an old Indian judge, a 
K. C. B. She and Lady Hildegarde have 
the same dressmaker, and that is posi- 
tively the only connection.” 

“ Oh yes, excuse me,” said her friend ; 
“ Lady Bloss’s uncle married a cousin of 
Lady Hildegarde’s aunt by marriage.” 

“ Oh, spare my poor stupid head ! ” 
cried Mrs. Cholmondeley. “ I call that a 
conundrum, not a connection ; don’t you, 
Mrs. Hayes?” 

Emma smiled sympathetically ; she 
hated riddles. 


92 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


“ I am sure the politics and parties of 
our Little Pedlington will amuse a woman 
of the world like you. Do you care for 
driving ? ” 

Emma admitted that she liked it — in 
fine weather. 

“ Then I shall come some afternoon 
early and take you out. Will Monday 
suit you, at two o’clock ?” 

“ Thank you, it is very kind of you.” 

“ And your daughter, too ; there will be 
plenty of room. I hope two o’clock is not 
interfering with your dinner hour ? ” 

Emma reddened, as she replied with 
some dignity — 

“ Oh no, thank you ; we always dine 
late.” 

Yes, we called it dinner. When our 
last visitor had driven away, Emma turned 
to me and said — 

“ My stupid brain is in a whirl. I can 


We Get Into Society. 93 

compare this afternoon to nothing less 
than a reception at Government House. 
I feel loaded to the earth with attention. 

I am to have drives, books, magazines, and 
even game and cough lozenges ! What 
a funny world it is ! A week ago — what 
am I saying ? two days ago — these people 
stared over our heads, and looked at US' 
as if we might give them smallpox ; and 
behold all this change — this sudden thaw, 
all because I happen to know Lady Hilde- 
garde. What did you think of them, dear 
— you know, you have a very critical 
mind? ” 

“ Well, since you ask me, I think that 
there seems to be a sliding-scale of merit. 
Mrs. Benny looks down on Miss Skuce ; 
Lady Bloss sniffs at the Bennys ; Mrs. 
Cholmondeley despises Lady Bloss ; and 
no doubt, some one else turns up her nose 
at her.” 


94 The Real Lady Hilda. 

“ Lady Bloss’s dignity was something 
overpowering. She entirely shrank from 
India and Indian topics, and yet she is a 
regular old Burra mem Sahib, now I come 
to think of it. How I wish I had known ! 
— I might have talked to her in Hindo- 
stani. I dare say she would have had a 
fit! ” 

“ I think it is most likely either that, 
or she would have called the police.” 

“Well, I must ask about a dressmaker 
immediately, and get your dresses ready,” 
continued Emma, “ for I can see that you 
are going to be overwhelmed with invita- 
tions. Lady Hildegarde will, of course, 
cliarperon you everywhere ; and I should 
like you to do her credit ! ” 


A Visit of Seven Minutes. 95 


CHAPTER VI. 

A VISIT OF SEVEN MINUTES. 

Emma’s prophecy came true for once 
— in fact, as far as I know, it was the soli- 
tary occasion on which her vivid day- 
dreams were realized. We were over- 
whelmed with civilities and invitations 
(chiefly to tea). Every day brought 
flowers and books, and it was quite a com- 
mon occurrence to see a carriage and pair 
waiting at our modest entrance. Mrs. 
Cholmondeley proved to be as good as her 
word, and took us for several drives. We 
were shown “ The Abbey,” as people called 
it — a low-lying, venerable, gray structure, 
with fine old trees and wonderful cloisters. 


96 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


We went to tea at the rectory, to lunch 
with Lady Bloss, and to quite a smart 
musical evening party at the Dovecote. 
The curate called, also Dr. Skuce, and — 
oh ! great event ! — Sir Warren Hastings 
Bloss ! He came to “ talk over India.” 
He announced his errand quite frankly 
to Emma, and he actually remained 
an hour and a half. Never had Mrs. 
Gabb ushered so many gentry up and 
down her narrow stairs — no, not in the 
twenty years she had let lodgings ; and 
her manner was now as unpleasantly 
obsequious as it had formerly been other- 
wise. 

A cup of her own tea was a pleasant 
little attention which she carried to us 
before rising, and she had become quite 
liberal in the matter of candles and clean 
tablecloths. Even indirectly, we were be- 
holden to Lady Hildegarde for many 


A Visit of Seven Minutes. 97 

bounties. “ She was expected at the end 
of the week,” so Miss Skuce informed us, 
and I am confident that the entire com- 
munity were on the qm-vive to see on what 
terms the great lady would be with the 
reduced gentlewomen at Mrs. Gabb’s in 
the High Street ! I believe they antici- 
pated boundless intimacy, measuring its 
dimensions by the size of the photograph 
in Emma’s possession. No one in the 
whole country had been endowed with a 
promenade copy in full court dress. If 
Eady Hildegarde’s esteem was to be meas- 
ured by the size of her picture, Emma, 
my stepmother, stood second to none in 
her regard. Of course, every one knew 
that we were poor. I am certain that Mrs. 
Gabb, in exchanging confidences in the 
hall with Miss Skuce, had informed her 
that we got in coals by the sack, and dined 

on two chops and a rice pudding. I am 

7 


98 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


equally positive that Miss Skuce was 
furiously jealous of our other acquaint- 
ances. Were we not her own special dis- 
covery ? The nearer the advent of Lady 
Hildegarde, the more anxiously affection- 
ate she became ; she called me “ Gwen,” 
and looked in to see “ how we were getting 
on ” at least once a day. One evening 
she hurried in in a state of breathless ex- 
citement. 

“ They have arrived,” she announced. 
“ Mrs Smith saw the station brougham 
loaded with luggage. I expect Lady 
Hildegarde will be in to see you to-morrow 
at cockcrow— well, at any rate, directly 
after breakast.” 

“ She does not know I am in Europe, 
much less in Stonebrook,” replied Emma ; 
“ we never corresponded.” 

“ Oh, that’s nothing. I know from my 
own experience that she hates writing let- 


A Visit of Seven Minutes. 99 

ters — she never even writes to me ! But 
she is a dear, sweet thing, and never for- 
gets her friends ; she is all heart. At the 
same time, I think that, perhaps, it would 
be well to drop her a nice little note. She 
might be startled to see you, or she might 
feel hurt to hear about you from a mere 
outsider. If you like to write a line, I 
will walk out to the lodge and leave it this 
afternoon.” 

This kind offer Emma declined, but she 
accepted the hint, and tossed the following 
letter across the table to me that same 
evening. I read it and approved — all 
save the remarks about myself, which she 
refused to modify — and took it out and 
dropped it into the postoffice with my own 
hands. This is what it said — 

“ Dear Lady Hildegarde, 

“ I am sure you will be surprised when 


ioo The Real Lady Hilda. 

you look at the signature at the end of 
this note, and still more astonished to 
hear that I am living, temporarily, in 
your own part of the world with my step- 
daughter. I have met with sad changes 
since the happy days when you and I were 
in India. My dear husband was taken 
from me very suddenly; he was never a 
saving man, always so open-handed, and 
we had put by nothing. The old rajah, 
our friend — who was in bad health, and 
worked upon by native intrigues — treated 
me most strangely. He is dead, and his 
heir makes me a very small allowance, 
which is my sole income. I have, how- 
ever, a kind, devoted daughter — step- 
daughter — who nurses me, spoils me, and 
shields me, just as her father used to do ! 
I have also a stout heart, and some good 
friends ; but my present life is a truly bit- 
ter contrast in every respect to the days 


A Visit of Seven Minutes. ioi 

that are gone ! when you knew me in 
Jam-Jam-More. I suppose — indeed, I am 
sure — that one cannot eat one’s loaf and 
have it. I have eaten my loaf, and, now 
that my dear husband is gone, I have no 
spirit, nor, indeed, health, for anything ; 
but there is my little girl of nineteen, with 
all her best days before her. I hope a 
few crumbs of pleasure may fall in her 
way. I came home nearly two years ago, 
and have lived in London until lately, but 
doctors have driven me out of it to find a 
more bracing air. We came to Stonebrook 
quite at haphazard, and I now think it 
was a most fortunate chance that guided 
me here, since I find that this little town 
is within a few miles of your home. I 
hope you and yours are well, and that I 
shall see you ere long. Believe me, 

“ Very sincerely yours, 

“ Emma Hayes.” 


102 The Real Lady Hilda. 

There was no answer to this letter for 
three days, and then a messenger brought 
the following reply : — 


“ Coppingham Abbey, Thursday. 

“ Dear Mrs. Hayes, 

“ So sorry to hear of your bereavement. 
Accept our warmest sympathy for your 
sad loss. I am pleased to hear that you 
are within easy reach of me, but I must 
warn you that Stouebrook is a most 
unfortunate locality for any one at all 
delicate. You should lose no time in 
going farther south — say to Devonshire. 
I can recommend you to such nice 
lodgings in Torquay. I have an im- 
mensity to do, and am dreadfully busy, 
but I shall hope to go and see you ere 
long. 

“ Yours faithfully, 

“ Hildegarde Somers.” 


A Visit of Seven Minutes. 103 

“ Well, so you’ve had a letter from her 
ladyship ! ” cried Miss Skuce. “ I saw 
the servant leave it just now. I am 
certain she is enchanted at the prospect 
of seeing you ! ” 

Emma commanded her countenance 
sufficiently to nod and smile. Oh, what 
hypocrites we are ! Speaking for myself, 
I could have torn the note into fifty little 
pieces, and stamped upon it — yes, and it 
does me good to say so ; but Emma had 
a sweet, long-suffering, gentle nature, 
whereas I was ever notorious for having 
a turbulent disposition and a proud 
spirit. 

“ She is in town this morning,” con- 
tinued Miss Skuce, and she folded her 
hands and arranged her draperies, evi- 
dently prepared to indulge us with a 
protracted sitting. “ I am certain she is 
coming to see you. No! ” — starting a 


104 The Real Lady Hilda. 

little — “ why, that is the Abbey carriage 
passing now. Look, Gwen, look ! ” 

I bent my head forward, and saw a well- 
appointed landau, with fine big horses 
and powdered servants. Lady Hildegarde 
was lying back, wrapped in costly furs, 
and was engaged in an animated con- 
versation with another lady — whose face 
was most beautifully painted. 

“ They lunch early, you see,” explained 
Miss Skuce, apologetically. “ She will be 
in this evening without fail ” — rising as 
she spoke — “ and if she says anything 
about me, you can tell her that I have 
been looking after you, dear Mrs. Hayes, 
and making you take care of your precious 
health.” And she simpered herself out 
of the room. 

Lady Hildegarde did not call that eve- 
ning — no, not for a whole week. I noticed 
her driving by on several occasions. As 


A Visit of Seven Minutes. 105 

she did not know me by sight, I ventured 
on a good stare. She was a wonder- 
ful woman for her age — fifty (so said 
the u Peerage”), and she seemed very 
sprightly and entertaining as she talked 
to her invariable companion, always in 
the same vivacious fashion. 

“ How well she looks,” exclaimed 
Emma, peeping from the background ; 
“ how young, and handsome, and pros- 
perous ! No wonder the other lady laughs 
— she was always so amusing and irre- 
sistible. 

“ But I don’t like her face, Emma. 
With all its smiles, it could be very grim 
and hard.” 

“ Oh, my dearest Gwen, that is imagina- 
tion ; she has a most charming expression. 
When you know her, you feel that you 
could do anything for her! ” 

“ Probably ; but she would not do any- 


106 The Real Lady Hilda. 

thing for me ! I am positive that I shall 
not like her. She is home nearly a week, 
and I think she might have come to see 
you ! ” 

“ My dear, fiery, touchy Gwen, she has 
so much to do — a great household, visi- 
tors, engagements, and she knows that 
she need not stand on ceremony with me , 
I who have nursed her, dressed her, writ- 
ten private letters for her, sat up with her 
at night. I don’t expect her to be cer- 
emonious, as if I was a stranger — but 
young people are so hard — so exacting.” 

“ I think she ought to be very grateful 
to you, Emma,” I persisted, doggedly. 

“ I am certain that she is not a bit 
changed. Just like her son,” rejoined her 
loyal defender. “We should think the 
best of every one ! I am sure she is just 
the same as ever.” 

Two days more, and yet Lady Hilde- 


A Visit of Seven Minutes. 107 

garde had not called. Ten days had 
elapsed since her return, and she had not 
condescended to come and see us. Miss 
Skuce was visibly uneasy and rather 
snappish ; also the Miss Bennys were a 
little cold in their manner when we ac- 
costed them after church, and Mrs. Gabb 
— oh, truly portentous symptom ! — ceased 
to administer cups of tea gratis. At last, 
one evening quite late, when the chimney 
was smoking horribly, and there was no 
lump sugar for tea, she called — came in 
a one-horse brougham, and remained ex- 
actly seven minutes by the clock. 

She was exceedingly gracious, shook 
Emma by both hands, talked of the dear 
old days in India, of clever, kind Dr. 
Hayes. “And so this is his daughter! 
I must have a good look at her,” scanning 
me up and down with her eyeglass. 
“ She is like him, is she not ? He 


108 The Real Lady Hilda. 

was fair, was not he — with a reddish 
beard?” 

“ Oh no,” replied Emma, and her voice 
trembled. “ I’m afraid you don’t quite 
remember him — he was very dark.” 

“ Ah ! yes, so he was. I declare I was 
thinking of some one else. I meet such 
thousands of new people every year. 
One thing I have not forgotten : your too 
delicious wire mattresses — such a treat in 
India — and your charming landau on cee 
springs ; and, oh yes, those absurd old 
elephants ! Dear Mrs. Hayes,” gazing 
closely at Emma, “ you look as if this 
cold climate did not agree with you ; you 
have got quite hollow-cheeked and thin.” 

“ I have been rather ailing,” said 
Emma, faintly. 

“ You really must get away to Torquay 
this Christmas. Have you made any 
friends here? ” 


A Visit of Seven Minutes. 109 

“ Scarcely friends,” was her reply ; 
“ though people have been most kind to 
me. My friends are in India.” 

“ I wonder you don’t go back to them ! 
I really would advise it,” rising as she 
spoke. “ Meanwhile, we must see some- 
thing of you, and I’ll send you some game 
and fruit. Supposing ” — and she hesi- 
tated for a moment — “ you were to dine 
with us on Christmas Day, eh? — it will 
cheer you up — and bring the little girl, 
too — will you ? ” 

“ I am sure you are very kind, but ” 

“ Now, no buts,” she protested play- 
fully. “ We dine at eight. Just a family 
gathering; and, look here” — she seemed 
subject to afterthoughts — “ I’ll send for 
you and send you home. I’ve had a good 
many drives in your carriage,” she added, 
quite affectionately. 

I saw the tears standing in Emma’s 


no The Real Lady Hilda. 

eyes. I was but a mere spectator, and 
had nothing to do but look on, and I had 
had ample opportunity of observing Lady 
Hildegarde. She afforded a sharp con- 
trast to Emma, who seemed unusually 
small, delicate, and forlorn. Her visitor, 
who did not look her age, was tall, slight, 
and held herself well. She had a smooth 
and beautiful complexion, brown hair 
worn over a cushion, a pair of bright eyes, 
an animated expression, and a pointed 
chin. She was dressed in a sort of pelisse, 
richly trimmed with priceless sable, and a 
smart little French bonnet which bristled 
with wings. 

“ Now, I will take no excuse ; there is 
no occasion for me to send you a formal 
card, is there ? ” 

“ Oh no, no,” protested Emma, eagerly. 

“ Then, Christmas Day is a fixture, re- 
member. Be ready at half-past seven, 


A Visit of Seven Minutes. hi 

please, for Hugo is so fidgety about his 
horses, and hates them to be kept stand- 
ing. On second thoughts, had you not 
better stay all night? Yes, that’s it! 
Just bring a basket trunk, and we will 
send you home after breakfast. Now, 
now,” with a gay, imperative gesture, 
“ pray don’t say a word — it is all settled ; ” 
and, with a hasty good-by, she was 
already at the door. 

But it was Bmma’s turn to introduce 
an afterthought, and my impulsive little 
Irish stepmother cried, “ Oh, do wait one 
second, Lady Hildegarde ; I want to ask 
about your son.” I was facing her lady- 
ship, and noticed that her gracious counte- 
nance had assumed an impatient expres- 
sion. This expression became absolutely 
grim as the words, “ We saw him in 
London — he was so good to us ! ” fell on 
her ear. 


1 12 The Real Lady Hilda. 

“ In London ! ” she repeated slowly, 
turning about to confront Emma, and 
speaking in a cool, constrained voice — an 
insolent voice. “ How did he discover 
you ? ” 

“ Quite by accident, I assure you ! ” 
Why should Emma’s tone so suddenly 
assume an apologetic key? “We met 
at the Stores ! ” 

“ The Stores ! ” — a pregnant pause — 
“ Oh, so you were the people ? ” She 
paused again, and continued in a more 
genial tone, “ I think I did hear something 
about it ! ” I was certain that she had 
heard everything about it, and had been 
greatly displeased ; but why ? 

“ Where is Mr. Everard Somers ? ” pur- 
sued Emma, rather timidly ; “ and how 
is he ? ” 

“ He is quite well, and rambling about 
as usual. Well, now, I must really go. 


A Visit of Seven Minutes. 113 

Good-by. So glad to have seen you,” 
and she once more nodded affectionately 
to Emma. I opened the door for her, and 
she rustled down-stairs with a footstep as 
light and rapid as if she had been but 
eighteen. In another moment we heard 
the bang of the carriage door — a bang that 
seemed to say to me, “ Thank goodness, 
that is over ! ” — and then she drove off. 

“ Hoiv kind ! ” cried Emma. “ Just her 
dear old self, isn’t she, darling ? Now, 
come, what did I tell you ? ” stroking my 
smileless face. 

“ I don’t think her kindness is so very 
remarkable, after all,” I grumbled, as I 
tidied up a chair-back. 

“ How difficult it is to please you young 
people ! What more would you expect, 
than to be asked to dinner on Christmas 
Day, to have a carriage sent for you, and 
to remain at the Abbey all night ? ” 


1 14 The Real Lady Hilda. 

I made no reply. Perhaps I was grasp- 
ing, perhaps I was too sanguine, too 
childish ; but I had expected something 
totally different. Happy are those who 
do not expect ! 

“ Well, has she been to call yet ? ” de- 
manded Miss Skuce, in a querulous voice, 
as she entered our apartments the next 
morning. 

“ Oh yes, last evening,” I answered 
promptly, with a sense of relief. 

“ Last evening ! Nonsense ! ” was the 
rude response. “ I never saw the carriage. 
It wasn’t in the street.” 

“ At any rate, it was here yesterday,” 
replied Emma, rather stiffly. 

“ When ? ” very sharply. 

“ About half-past five or six o’clock ; it 
was quite dark.” 

“ Pitch dark of course. Dear me, what 
a strange hour ! ” 


A Visit of Seven Minutes. 115 

“ Well, you see, as Lady Hildegarde 
says herself, there is no occasion to be 
ceremonious with me.” 

“ That’s true,” brightening up. “ And 
what else did she say ? ” 

“Oh, she talked of India and of old 
times. She has invited us to dinner on 
Christmas Day.” 

“ Come ! that is a compliment. For, of 
course, it’s a family party. But how will 
you get there ? Scott never hires out his 
flies on Christmas Day.” 

“ Lady Hildegarde has kindly offered 
to send for us.” 

“ Nonsense ! — and Mr. Somers is so 
churlish of his horses ? ” 

“Yes, we are to sleep at the Abbey that 
night,” said Emma, carelessly. 

“ Well, upon my word, I call that doing 
it comfortably. I am so glad,” suddenly 
rising and wringing Emma’s hand. “ You 


n6 The Real Lady Hilda. 

will enjoy it ! Christmas at the Abbey ! 
You will have no end to tell us. Oh, by 
the way, did you — did she — mention me ? ” 

“ No,” was the rather shamefaced ad- 
mission. 

Miss Skuce looked extremely glum. 

“ You see,” continued Emma, “ she was 
not here long, and was entirely taken up 
with other topics — India, you know. How- 
ever, when I am under her roof, I shall 
certainly make a point of telling her of 
your kindness.” 

“ Oh, no, no, no — ten thousand times 
no ! It’s not worth mentioning, only that 
I am sure she would be glad to know that, 
in her absence, her friends were taken 
good care of. I’ll bring you some eggs 
to-morrow.” (There had been a consider- 
able pause with regard to these eggs.) 
Finally Miss Skuce kissed Emma with 
almost passionate fervor — believing that 


A Visit of Seven Minutes. 117 

a peeress had left a recent impress on the 
same pale lips — and went forth in haste 
to spread the news. 

It lost nothing in the telling ! Lady 
Hildegarde had lunched — no, she had had 
tea with us. The Hayes were going to 
stay at the Abbey — to live there. Lady 
Hildegarde had adopted Miss Hayes. It 
took ten days to sift facts from fiction, and 
then it was generally allowed that we were 
to dine at the Abbey, that one of the Ab- 
bey carriages was to fetch us, and we were 
to remain all night. To be invited to dine 
at the Abbey on Christmas Day was a 
conspicuous favor, and civilities, which 
had somewhat flagged within the last few 
weeks, were now rekindled more warmly 
than ever. 


n8 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


CHAPTER VII. 

FOUR IN A FLY. 

A FEW days before Christmas, Emma 
and I were taking a constitutional (a walk 
for duty, not for pleasure) between two 
bare uninteresting hedges, about a mile 
from Stonebrook. We had been stitching 
all the morning at the dress in which I 
was to make my debut at the Abbey — a 
rich white satin, long and plain, which 
Emma had worn but once, and that fitted 
me with surprisingly little alteration, 
beyond lengthening the skirt. 

This tramp along a muddy footpath was 
the result of my companion’s extreme 
anxiety with respect to my complexion ! 


Four in a Fly. 


119 

I had been forced abroad— much against 
my inclination — to “ get a color.” As we 
trudged together, in somewhat gloomy 
silence, a smart little sandy-haired horse- 
woman trotted gaily by, followed by a 
groom. She glanced at us carelessly in 
passing, looked back, and finally drew up 
short. It was Mrs. Cholmondeley. 

“ Oh, so pleased to meet you ! ” she 
cried vivaciously. “ How do you do, Mrs. 
Hayes?” nodding carelessly to Emma. 
Then, leaning down, and addressing me 
particularly, “ I’m having a party to- 
morrow night, some music and a little 
dance. It would be a big dance if / had 
anything to do with it; but Jack won’t 
hear of that. He declares that it keeps 
people up too late, and hunting people 
should all be up at cockcrow. However, 
this function to-morrow will be over early, 
and I shall be so glad if you can come ! 


120 The Real Lady Hilda. 

I’m rather short of girls — of pretty ones, 
I mean. I can reckon on any number of 
plain ones ! ” 

Who could resist such an invitation ? I 
hesitated. I felt my face becoming rather 
warm. Surely I had a color now ! Mrs. 
Cholmondeley was struck by it, for she 
exclaimed — 

“ Oh, my dear ! I wish I had your 
complexion ! — your lovely roses ! ” 

She was not aware that I owed my lovely 
roses to the fact that she had ignored 
Emma as absolutely as if she had been 
my nurse. 

“ You know it’s only for young people, 
Mrs. Hayes,” she explained. “ It would 
bore you to death. Chaperons are quite 
exploded, and girls go about every- 
where now by themselves.” 

“ So I hear,” answered Emma, meekly. 
“ And I am sure Gwen would be delighted 


Four in a Fly. 


121 


to accept your kind invitation ; but I don’t 
think she could very well go alone, and 
it’s a long drive.” 

“ I can easily settle all that. The 
Bennys shall call for her. Leave it all to 
me, please, and I’ll arrange everything. 
I’ll chaperon her myself, and take every 
care of her. Remember, she is to wear 
her smartest frock, and bring her roses.” 

“ But, really, we scarcely know the 
Misses Benny sufficiently well to ask ” 

“ But / know them, and /’// ask. Now, 
please, Mrs. Hayes, don’t throw any more 
obstacles in the child’s way. The Bennys 
will call for your charming daughter at 
nine o’clock to-morrow evening. If they 
call in vain, I shall never, never speak to 
you again.” And, with a smiling nod, 
she gave her impatient horse the rein, 
and trotted briskly away. 

Here was something to discuss during 


122 The Real Lady Hilda. 

the remainder of our walk, and over our 
tea! 

“ I am sure the Bennys will hate hav- 
ing to take me,” I remarked. “ I would 
really rather brave Mrs. Cholmondeley’s 
wrath and not go. She might have asked 
me before, if she desired my company so 
much ; and I think it is extremely rude 
of her to leave you out, and declare that 
you would be bored. Why should you be 
more bored than I ? ” 

“ You are quite different, dear. You 
don’t understand.” 

“ No, I don’t understand,” I answered 
with angry impatience ; “ and I am not 
going.” 

“ Oh, but, Gwen, I wish you to go. Go 
to please me. You never get any variety 
or amusement.” 

“ It will be no amusement to me to 
drive six miles cramped up in a fly with 


Four in a Fly. 


123 


the Miss Bennys, and to sit for a couple 
of hours with my back to the wall, not 
knowing a soul to speak to.” 

“ There will be music ; and I dare say 
Mrs. Cholmondeley will get you some 
partners. Your dress is ready. I hope 
it won’t take any harm. It is not as if it 
was going to be a regular ball ; if it 
was, I should be afraid to risk it. I want 
to keep the bloom on it for Christmas Day. 
I don’t suppose there will be a large 
gathering at the Moate, for I doubt if Mrs. 
Cholmondeley is in the best set. She is 
of no family, so Miss Skuce said, but had 
an immense fortune — made in margarine. 
It was kind of her to ask you, darling ; 
and I really think you ought to take her 
invitation as it was meant — and go.” 

At this moment Mrs. Gabb appeared, 
with a cocked-hat note between her finger 
and thumb. 


124 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


“ It’s from the Dovecote, please, Miss ; 
and the boy is in the hall waiting for an 
answer.” 

The missive was addressed to me, and 
proved to be unexpectedly cordial. It 
said — 

“ Dear Miss Hayes, 

“We shall be delighted to take you 
to Mrs. Cholmondeley’s tomorrow even- 
ing, and will call for you at a quarter to 
nine. 

“ Yours very sincerely, 

“ Jessica Benny.” 

“ There ! You see you have no alterna- 
tive,” cried Emma, triumphantly. “ Just 
scribble a nice little note and say that you 
accept their kind offer with much pleasure.” 

When I had despatched my reply, and 
taken up my needlework, Emma con- 
tinued — 


Four in a Fly. 


125 


“ I wonder if you will know any one in 
the room. I do hope Lady Hildegarde 
will be there. I am sure she will look 
after you, and make it pleasant for you.” 

I was not so sanguine on this point, but 
I merely said with a laugh — 

“ Perhaps we shall have Lady Polexfen, 
too. Do you think she will make it 
pleasant for me?” 

“ She is a cold, arrogant wretch ; not 
one bit like her mother or her brother. 
I wish he were to be there. He would be 
sure to notice you.” 

“ Notice me ! ” I echoed. 

“ There, now — there, now ! My dear 
Gwen, you know what I mean. No 
offense, as they say. Upon my word, 
when your eyes flash like that, I feel 
quite terrified. I cannot think where you 
get your pride — and you are desperately 
proud — certainly not from your poor dear 


126 The Real Lady Hilda. 

father. He had not a scrap of pride — ex- 
cept — just on one subject.” And she 
gazed rather dreamily at the lamp. 

“ And what was that subject ? ” I in- 
quired. 

No answer. She did not seem to hear 
me. Her thoughts were far away. 

“ What subject, Emma,” I repeated, 
“ was my father’s one sensitive point ? ” 

“ Oh ” — rather confusedly — “ it was an 
old, old story. It is no use in recalling 
it now. Would you mind running into 
my room, dear, and fetching me the large 
scissors ? ” 

It was evident that my usually commu- 
nicative stepmother wished to change the 
conversation. 

The next evening I placed myself and 
my toilet entirely in Emma’s hands. She 
was a clever hairdresser, and lingered long 
over my adornment ; it being, as she con- 


Four in a Fly. 


127 


fessed to me, “ a labor of love.” Wben 
tbe last pin liad been fastened, she sur- 
veyed me with an air of critical approval, 
and said — 

“ Now, Gwen, look at yourself, and tell 
me your candid opinion of Miss Hayes ? ” 

I rose up and surveyed my appearance 
in a narrow little mirror in her wardrobe, 
whilst Emma stood on a chair and held 
the flat candle triumphantly over my 
head. 

I wore my thick fair hair turned off my 
face as usual ; a long plain white satin 
gown, a lace fichu knotted in front, and a 
little gold necklet and locket which had 
once belonged to my own mother. 

“ I think, since you ask me,” I said, 
“ that Miss Hayes is absurdly overdressed, 
most unsuitably got up. This magnifi- 
cent satin, this cobwebby lace, are ridicu- 
lously out of place on me” 


128 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


“ They don’t look out of place, I can 
assure you ; you become them to the 
manner born. You might be a countess 
in your own right, as far as your appear- 
ance and style are concerned. I must 
say, Gwen, that you are a girl that it is a 
pleasure to dress ; you have quite a grand 
air, such a remarkable carriage.” 

“ Carriage ! ” I repeated, with a laugh 
of scorn. “ I wish I had a carriage — yes, 
and a pair — so that I need not intrude 
upon the Miss Bennys ; three in a fly are 
too many.” 

“ Oh, and do take care of your gown, 
darling ; lift it up well, and hold the train 
in your lap. This is only a dress re- 
hearsal for Christmas Day, and I should 
be so vexed if you got your frock tumbled 
or soiled.” 

I promised in the most solemn manner 
to take the greatest care of my toilet, and 


129 


Four in a Fly. 

refused for the tenth time the eagerly 
pressed loan of her diamond brooch, “ just 
to give the lace a finish.” 

“ My dear Emma, I am going to this 
party to please you ; I am wearing lace 
and satin fit for a duchess to please you ; 
but I really must decline the diamonds. 
As it is, people will be quite sufficiently 
tickled, when they compare my costume 
with my position and surroundings ; they 
will say all sorts of nasty things.” 

“ They will say you are a princess in 
disguise ! ” 

“ Pooh ! they will say I am a pauper 
who has been swindling some London 
dressmaker ! I shall make myself small, 
and sit in a corner, and try and escape 
notice,” and I sailed into the sitting-room. 

Here I found an immediate opportunity 
of testing the effect of my transformation. 
Mrs. Gabb, who (as an excuse to obtain a 
9 


130 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


private view) was making up the fire, 
dropped the poker with a frightful clang, 
as she ejaculated — 

“ Good laws — laws me ! Well — I 
never ! ” which I accepted as a very hand- 
some tribute to my splendid appearance. 
In another five minutes the glories of my 
costume were concealed beneath a long 
fur-trimmed evening cloak (yet another 
relic of Emma’s wealthy days), and I 
found myself shut into a fly, with my 
back to the horse, and driving away with 
the two Miss Bennys and Mrs. Mont- 
morency Green, their cousin. I ventured 
to thank them, rather timidly. 

“It is so very kind of you to take me,” 
I murmured ; “ and I am quite ashamed 
of crushing you like this.” 

“ Well, you must only make yourself 
as small as you can,” said the elder, with 
asperity. “We would do anything to 


Four in a Fly. 


I3i 

oblige dear Mrs. Cbolmondeley ; and she 
made quite a point of our taking you with 
us.” 

The tone in which this was said left no 
doubt on my mind that Miss Benny was 
extremely surprised at Mrs. Cholmon- 
deley’s enthusiasm. 

“ I suppose it will not be a large party ? ” 
I hazarded, still more timidly. 

“ Not a large party ! We shall have 
half the county ; every one will be there. 
The Moate is such a dear old place — 
splendid pictures, grand reception-rooms 
— and the Cholmondeleys do everything 
so well ; they gave three weeks’ invitation, 
so it’s sure to be extra smart ! ” 

Three weeks’ invitation, and I had been 
asked at the eleventh hour ! I now 
shrank into my corner of the fly and re- 
lapsed into silence, feeling as small as 
Miss Benny could possibly desire. 


132 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


As we bowled steadily along the hard 
country roads, my three companions 
launched into the news of the neighbor- 
hood, entirely ignoring my presence. I 
gathered that Mrs. Montmorency Green 
was a newcomer, and that her cousins 
were anxious to post her up in all the 
fashionable intelligence. 

“ They have a large house-party at the 
Moate, and there will be a lawn meet to- 
morrow,” said Miss Benny. 

“ I wonder if the Somers will give a 
dance this winter ? ” added her sister. “ I 
should like Annie here to see the Abbey 
— it’s such a wonderful old place. The 
library is what was once the monks’ 
refectory.” 

“ Oh, there will be no dances at the 
Abbey now that Lady Hildegarde has 
married her daughter ,” remarked her 
sister decisively. 


133 


\ 


Four in a Fly. 

“ But she has a son ! ” 

“ My dear Jessica, a mother does not 
give balls for her son : she leaves that to 
other women ! ” 

“ They have lost a lot of money lately ; 
old Mr. Somers is in his dotage, and has 
burnt his fingers badly over investments 
in South America, and the son must marry 
money. Both families wish him to marry ” 
— here the fly rattled over a sheet of 
stones, and I lost the name. “ His mother 
is quite determined about it. I don’t call 
her a good-looking girl, and I can’t imagine 
what any of the men see in her, except 
unlimited effrontery. She calls herself 
advanced. I call her abominably fast. 
She goes about everywhere alone, just as 
she pleases, hunts, and keeps racehorses. 
They say her style of conversation is most 
extraordinary. She shoots, smokes, fishes, 
and rules her poor father with a rod of 


134 The Real Lady Hilda. 

iron. In fact, she is just like a young 
man ! ” 

“ Only, young men don’t generally rule 
their fathers with a rod of iron,” said the 
cousin, smartly. 

“ And I don’t believe that she keeps 
racehorses,” put in Miss Jessica. 

“ I should like to see her. I hope she 
will be at this place to-night,” remarked 
Mrs. Green. “ If she is, you must be sure 
and point her out.” 

“Oh, you may easily recognize her! 
She is always surrounded by a multitude 
of men, and you can hear her voice above 
the band ! ” rejoined Miss Benny. Then, 
suddenly, to me, “ Are you asleep, Miss 
Hayes ? ” 

“ Oh no.” 

“ I’m afraid ” — with a sigh — “ you will 
find it rather dull to-night, as you are a 
stranger, and know so few people. How- 


Four in a Fly. 


135 


ever, you can amuse yourself looking at 
the pictures — they are all masterpieces, 
and there is sure to be a good supper.” 

I made no reply. No doubt I must 
make up my mind to play the role of looker- 
on ; I was well accustomed to the part. 

We were now in the avenue, which was 
very long, and quite a string of carriages 
were already disgorging their contents. 
We drove under a portico, stepped out on 
red cloth, were ushered up by powdered 
footmen, and passed on to the ladies’ room, 
where three or four smart maids were 
ready to relieve us of our wraps. The 
Miss Bennys and their cousin nodded to 
several acquaintances, and made a bold 
and combined assault upon the dressing- 
table. The sisters Benny were dressed 
alike in prim black evening dresses, with 
stiff little bouquets pinned in on the left 
side — just over the region of the heart. 


136 The Real Lady Hilda. 


Their hair was extremely neat, and really 
their anxiety was unnecessary ; however, 
they powdered their noses and twitched 
their fringes ; meanwhile, I had divested 
myself of my long mantle, and patiently 
awaited their good pleasure. 

At last they were ready, and as Miss 
Benny’s eyes fell on me I saw a change 
come over her whole face. She glanced 
expressively at her relatives, and then 
again at me. As I waited humbly for her 
to pass out, she found her voice. 

“ Upon my word ! ” she exclaimed, with 
a very forced smile. “If we are to go by 
appearances , Miss Hayes ” — now looking 
me up and down from head to foot — “ we 
should walk after you ! ” And then, with 
a violent toss of her head, she led the way 
out of the room, followed by her cousin, 
Miss Jessica Benny, and last and least — 
myself. 


The Chalgrove Eyebrows. 137 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE CHALGROVE EYEBROWS. 

We passed into a large, oak-paneled 
hall, and then up a wide, shallow stair- 
case, carpeted with soft crimson carpet, 
and lined with large oil paintings, chiefly 
portraits. At the head of the stairs we 
were received by Mrs. Cholmondeley, all 
smiles, diamonds, and blue crepe. She 
was surrounded by a crowd which ap- 
peared to have overflowed from the recep- 
tion-rooms. Our hostess passed on my 
three companions, with three smiles and 
three hurried nods, but looked at me for 
quite five seconds, and, putting forth a 
most dainty hand, drew me affectionately 
towards her. 


138 The Real Lady Hilda. 


“ She is in my charge now,” she called 
after the Miss Bennys. “ Thank you so 
much. Dear me ! ” she continued, turn- 
ing to me with a little dry laugh, “ do you 
know that you are a very pretty and dis- 
* tinguished-looking girl, and are bound to 
be the belle of the evening ? Yes, indeed, 
my charming, blushing Cinderella. Au- 
brey Price, come here,” beckoning to an 
extremely lackadaisical young man, who 
now lazily approached. “ I give Miss 
Hayes into your charge. Take the great- 
est care of her. Take her to the refresh- 
ment-room — the morning-room, you know 
—and get her tea — or something.” 

And, behold ! I was launched out there 
and then into an acquaintance. My 
cavalier surveyed me, and I surveyed my 
cavalier, with much gravity. He was fair, 
slight, rather good-looking, and clean- 
shaven. He displayed a vast expanse of 


The Chalgrove Eyebrows. 139 

shirt-front, and wore a pair of exquisitely 
fitting gloves. 

“ Well, I suppose we must obey orders,” 
he answered, “ whether you want tea or 
not.” 

We accordingly wended our way to the 
buffet, where he exerted himself to pro- 
cure me a cup of coffee, and stood and 
watched me as I sipped it. I looked up 
suddenly, and caught his rather small, 
keen blue eyes fixed on me, and nearly 
upset the contents of my cup over the 
front of my immaculate white gown. 

“ These sort of half-and-half affairs are 
ghastly,” he remarked, as he took my 
cup. “ Don’t you think so? ” 

“ No ; I do not,” I answered bravely, 
for this fine old house, crowds of gay, 
well-dressed people, delicious strains of 
a string band, lights, flowers, pictures, 
were to my mind extremely enjoyable. 


140 The Real Lady Hilda. 

“ But, of course, I should prefer a real 
dance.” 

“ And I should not ,” he rejoined ener- 
getically. “ Here, at least, you can sneak 
away and go to sleep in a comfortable 
armchair ; but at what you call a ‘ real 
dance,’ upon my word, the way in which 
hostesses drive and hustle one about is 
enough to call for the intervention of the 
police or the Society for the Prevention 
of Cruelty to Animals ; and, if you stand 
against a wall, people trample on your 
feet ! ” At the mere recollection of his 
sufferings, he almost looked as if he was 
going to cry. 

“ The remedy is in your own hands,” 
I replied unfeelingly. “ Dance” 

“ No, no,” — shaking his head , — “ not if 
I know it. I don’t mind sitting out now 
and then, just to oblige ; but I draw the 
line at dancing. I’m too old.” 


The Chalgrove Eyebrows. 141 

I gazed at him in amazement. He 
could not be more than four or five-and- 
twenty at the most. 

“ Then why do you go to dances, where 
you are so cruelly ill-used? ” I asked; 
“ hustled, as you say, and driven about 
and trampled on ? ” 

“ Oh, I only go when duty calls me, 
and, thank goodness, that is not often. 
When the ball is given by one’s cousin’s 
cousin, or one’s aunt, or some old pal of 
my governor’s.” 

“ Then your father is actually alive ? ” 

“ Alive ! I should think so ! And a 
younger man than I am. He dances, so 
does my mother.” 

“ Really ! And you go about in a bath- 
chair ? ” 

“ Well, not just yet. I’m not altogether 
so feeble as I look ” — in a bantering tone. 
“ I say, are you staying in the house ? ” 


142 The Real Lady Hilda. 

“ No ; I have only just arrived.” 

“ Then ” — with much animation — “ did 
you notice if it was freezing when you 
came along ? ” 

“ No ; it was just beginning to drizzle.” 

“ Then that’s all right. You see, the 
hounds meet here to-morrow, the best 
draw at this side of the county, and the 
country is all plain sailing, very sound 
going. You hunt, of course ?” 

“ No, indeed. But do you ? ” 

“ Don’t I ? Every one hunts down here. 
I’ve had fifty days this winter already.” 

“ Oh, then you are not too decrepit to 
ride ? ” I inquired. 

He stared at me for a second, and burst 
into a roar of laughter as he answered — 

“ I hunt six days a week regular ; there’s 
nothing to touch it.” 

“ You must require a good many horses.” 

“ Yes, pretty well ; I have thirty, but 


The Chalgrove Eyebrows. 143 

two of them are dead lame, and three are 
mere jumping hacks. Would you like 
to come down-stairs and do the picture- 
gallery ? This blessed demi-semi dance 
won’t begin for an hour.” 

“ I should like to see the pictures very 
much indeed,” I answered ; and we made 
our way slowly back to the head of the 
stairs. The crowd was immense. There 
seemed to be two or three hundred people 
present. The grand staircase was deserted 
now. Guests had arrived and ebbed away 
to the ball-room or tea-room. We de- 
scended the delightfully shallow stairs 
side by side, I moving with the dignity 
due to my rich satin train, which trailed 
behind me languidly. 

There were some new arrivals in the 
hall, chiefly men. One of them looked 
up suddenly, and I saw that it was Mr. 
Somers. He contemplated me and my 


144 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


cavalier with unconcealed surprise. How- 
ever, he had evidently made up his mind 
that I was no ghost, but my own solid 
self, for as I put my white slipper on the 
last step, he came forward with an out- 
stretched hand, and said — 

“ How do you do, Miss Hayes? You 
were the last to speed me, and almost the 
first person I meet when I return home. 
Hullo, Aubrey,” to my companion, “ go- 
ing strong, eh ? How are all the horses ? ” 

“ Oh, fairly fit. When did you come 
back ? ” 

“ This afternoon ; and my sister put me 
on duty at once, you see. She is stopping 
all night for the meet to-morrow, and so 
am I.” 

“ So am I,” echoed the other trium- 
phantly. 

“ How is Mrs. Hayes ? ” inquired Mr. 
Somers. “ Is she here this evening ? ” 


The Chalgrove Eyebrows. 145 

“ She is pretty well, thank you. No, 
she is not here to-night.” 

“ Are you staying in the neighbor- 
hood?” 

“ Yes ; for the present — atStonebrook.” 

“ I’m delighted to hear it. Where are 
you bound for, Aubrey ? ” 

“ We are going to do the pictures. I’m 
showman.” 

“ What a preposterous fraud ! Miss 
Hayes, he knows no more of pictures than 
he does of making a watch ! I’ll take 
you round the gallery ; at least, I know 
a Landseer from a Rubens.” 

“ Not a little bit of it,” rejoined the 
other. “ Miss Hayes was given into my 
sole charge — were you not, Miss Hayes ? 
— and I am responsible for her. Go up- 
stairs — you will find some old friends,” he 
added, rather significantly. 

During this polite competition for my 

10 


146 The Real Lady Hilda. 


company, Miss Benny and her cousin had 
been hovering about in our vicinity, and 
now accosted me — 

“ Ahem, Miss Hayes, my dear, the 
dancing will not begin for half an hour ; 
don’t you think you had better come and 
sit with us till then ? ” 

But I had not forgotten my recent 
treatment at her hands, and said — 

“ Oh, thank you, Miss Benny, I am 
just going to see the pictures, as you rec- 
ommended, and you know I have sat 
with you for nearly an hour already in 
the fly, and you will have me again going 
back.” 

Miss Benny sniffed, glared, and backed 
herself away in purple wrath. 

“ I see you are a match for Miss 
Benny,” said Mr. Somers, with a grin. 

“ Miss Hayes is a match for most 
people. She has been pitching into me 


The Chalgrove Eyebrows. 147 

for not dancing,” said my escort with 
serene complacency. 

“ And quite right too, you are a lazy 
beggar ! ” 

But I noticed that Mr. Somers looked 
at me with a puzzled air. I dare say he 
scarcely recognized the meek, shabbily 
dressed girl of last July in the present Miss 
Hayes. I was puzzled also — I scarcely rec- 
ognized myself. I was tUe montee ; my sur- * 
roundings, my splendid gown, had trans- 
formed me ; it was certainly another young 
woman, a total stranger, who was saunter- 
ing about in my body, and treading on air ! 

“ When the dancing begins I shall fetch 
you, Miss Hayes. I hope you will give 
me the first waltz,” and he took out a 
small pencil, “ and two others. May I 
have five and ten ? ” 

“ Yes ; but I should warn you that I 
am not an experienced performer.” 


148 The Real Lady Hilda. 


“ So much the better ; you won’t want 
to steer,” writing rapidly on his shirt cuff. 

To my great surprise I saw Mr. Aubrey 
Price also preparing his shirt cuff for 
manuscript. 

“ And I — how many may I have, if you 
please ? ” 

“ Oh, really, I should not like to vic- 
timize you,” I protested. 

“ Nonsense ! Shall we say the first 
square and the pas de quatre ? ” 

“ Very well, if it will not be too fa- 
tiguing for you,” I replied, and he also 
scribbled on his cuff ; and then we walked 
on into the picture-gallery. 

The gallery was full of people, and be- 
tween looking at them and the pictures 
the moments flew. I had not half made 
the tour of the paintings w r hen I found 
Mr. Somers already claiming me. We 
went up-stairs to the dancing-room — two 


The Chalgrove Eyebrows. 149 

immense drawing-rooms, decorated with 
flowers and palms. The deep windows 
held seats, and there were two or three 
sofas at one end of the ball-room, otherwise 
it was empty. A string band was sta- 
tioned in the conservatory. Many couples 
were swimming round to the strains of 
the Hydropaten waltz, and in another 
second Mr. Somers and I had joined them. 

The floor was perfect, and the music 
corresponded. Dancing came to me al- 
most by nature, and I had been extremely 
well taught ; then I was young, slender, 
tireless. We went round, and round, and 
round, with an easy swing, until the waltz 
ceased in one long-drawn-out, wo-begone 
wail. 

“ Thank you,” said my partner ; “ that 
was a treat ! Your estimation of your 
dancing is too modest. You dance like a 
South American.” 


150 The Real Lady Hilda. 

As I had never seen a South American, 
I could not say whether that was a 
compliment or otherwise. Whilst we 
threaded our way into the tea-room, I no- 
ticed that my partner appeared to know 
every one, and that they all seemed glad 
to see him. Smiling ladies accosted him 
and asked when he had come back ; men 
slapped him on the shoulder, and I noticed 
that some looked hard at him, and then 
sharply at me. At last we reached our 
goal, and as he brought me an ice he 
said — 

“ Where did you learn to dance ? ” 

“ In Paris. I was at school there for 
four years.” 

“ Then, of course, you speak French 
like a native ? ” 

“ I can make myself understood.” 

“ I see you are accustomed to under- 
rate your accomplishments. Shall we go 


The Chalgrove Eyebrows. 151 

into the next room, and get out of this 
crush ? ” 

We moved into what was Mrs. Chol- 
mondeley’s boudoir, and was now reserved 
for sitters-out. Here I recognized sev- 
eral familiar faces. Amongst them the 
Miss Bennys and their cousin, who were 
seated in a row watching me. Close be- 
side us, before the fire, stood an animated, 
not to say noisy group, consisting of half 
a dozen young men and several girls. 
One of the latter was the center of attrac- 
tion ; every one of the others seemed to 
address her, or to wish for her sole atten- 
tion, and I did not wonder. She appeared 
to be exceedingly vivacious and amusing, 
and was pretty and uncommon-looking. 
Her costume was peculiar, but I rightly 
guessed it to be the work of a Parisian 
artiste. The body was of black cripe de 
Chine gathered into bands of gold embroi- 


152 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


dery, the shirt of white brocade, with a 
thick border of Neapolitan violets ; a crim- 
son cr£pe scarf was tied negligently round 
her dainty waist, violets were tucked into 
her bodice and her hair, which was fair 
and very abundant. She had penciled, 
dark eyebrows, and dark gray eyes, which 
former afforded a striking contrast to her 
light locks. I never saw any one with a 
more piquant expression, or with such a 
wonderfully varied play of features. She 
wore unusually long gloves, and bran- 
dished an enormous black feather fan, as 
she talked with much volubility. Sud- 
denly she caught sight of my companion, 
and paused as he said — 

“ How are you, Miss Chalgrove ? ” 

“ Why, Everard ! ” she exclaimed, “ I 
had no idea you were here, though I knew 
you were expected. Why did you not 
come with Maudie ? ” 


The Chalgrove Eyebrows. 153 

“ I had only just arrived, and, like you 
ladies, I had all my unpacking to do, and 
to dress and fix my hair.” 

“ But you had no dinner here ? ” 

“Yes, I had something on the stairs, 
like the children. Have you had good 
sport this winter? ” 

“ Capital ! I’ve brought one of my gees 
here ; father is here, too. He has brought 
old Champion.” 

“ I saw him going very well on Saturday 
week,” put in a tall, thin man. “ From 
Benson’s Cross, you know. He was quite 
in the first flight in that second run, you 
remember.” 

And now every one of these people be- 
gan to talk clamorously, and at once — 
and all about hunting. Their conversation 
was extraordinary (to an outsider). Mr. 
Somers was drawn into the conversation, 
and was not a whit behind-hand ; but just 


154 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


flowed like a tide into the subject, as in- 
terested and excited as the most rabid fox- 
hunter among them. I caught such scraps 
as — “ Got hung up in a nasty corner,” 
“ Miss Flagg at the bottom of a ditch, her 
saddle in one field, her horse in the other,” 
“ scent catchy,” “ foxes not very good,” 
“ drains all open,” “ the pace terrific,” 
“ the ladies screaming behind him.” It 
was all Greek to me. 

I stood a little aloof, though not con- 
spicuously so — for the room was full — and 
watched this girl. She had a loud, clear, 
far-carrying voice and laugh ; she was 
small, slight, and dazzlingly fair, her fair 
skin enhanced by her black brows and 
lashes. Somehow, her face seemed famil- 
iar to me ; she was like some one I knew. 
Who could it be ? As I meditated, I glanced 
unconsciously into the great mirror above 
the chimney-piece, in which we were all 


The Chalgrove Eyebrows. 155 

reflected, and instantly recognized who it 
was that she resembled. It was myself / 
I recalled with a sudden thrill that my 
own mother’s name was Chalgrove. Per- 
haps this girl was some connection — per- 
haps my cousin ! More unlikely things 
might be ! 

She was smart, popular, pretty, wealthy, 
and what is known as “ in the swim.” 
She was holding quite a small court on 
the hearthrug — a gay, quick-witted, and 
capricious queen. 

What a contrast to myself — a poor ob- 
scure nobody, and at the present moment 
nothing more nor less than a mere daw 
decked out in peacock’s feathers ! I gazed 
at Miss Chalgrove — I had heard of her — 
Lord Chalgrove’s sole child and heiress. 
I stared at her contemplatively in the mir- 
ror ; suddenly she looked up, and our eyes 
met! Whatever she was about to say 


156 The Real Lady Hilda. 

died away in a sort of broken sentence, and 
then she unexpectedly touched me on the 
arm with her fan, and said with a radiant 
smile — 

“ Yes, I see it too ! Is it not extraordi- 
nary ? We are as like as the proverbial 
two peas ; only you are the better looking 
of the two — the sweet pea, and I am the 
common or garden pea ! Joking apart, we 
might be sisters. Where did you get the 
Chalgrove eyebrows and upper lip ? ” 

I colored furiously, for I was instantly 
the center of attention. It seemed to me 
that every eye was fastened on my face, 
and the distinctive Chalgrove features ! 
To my immense relief, Mrs. Cholmondeley 
at this moment made a sort of swoop into 
our circle, saying as she did so — 

“ Come away, my dearest child ! you 
have fallen for your sins into the hunting 
set. They can talk, think, dream of noth- 


The Chalgrove Eyebrows. 157 

mg else. Were they not talking of horses ? 
Oh, Mr. Somers, your sister is looking for 
you.” 

I heard a scrap of another conversation 
as I was being swept off — the words, “ My 
double — who is she ? ” 

“ I see,” continued my hostess, “ you 
are getting on capitally ! I’m going to 
introduce you to Sir Fulke Martin. He 
asked to be presented. He is immensely 
rich, so be sure you are very nice to him ! ” 


158 The Real Lady Hilda. 


CHAPTER IX. 

“we NEED NOT ASK IE YOU HAVE EN- 
JOYED YOURSELF.” 

Sir Fulke, who appeared to be expect- 
ing us, was a stout, bald gentleman, with 
a pair of hard brown eyes and a fixed 
smile. He bowed profoundly over his 
stiff shirt-front, as we were introduced ; 
then Mrs. Cholmondeley immediately cut 
me adrift, saying in her quick little 
way — 

“ Now, Sir Fulke, there is a dance 
going on. Do take Miss Hayes into the 
ball-room ! ” 

Sir Fulke piloted me carefully — danced 
with me carefully, but there was not the 


We Need not Ask. ! 


iS9 


same swing and go as with my former 
partner. Sir Fulke gasped out several 
leading questions, and threw out filmy 
feelers in order to discover who I was, and 
where I came from. I did not satisfy his 
curiosity. Perhaps, if he had known that 
he was merely dancing with Miss Hayes, 
who lived in cheap lodgings in Stonebrook, 
he would have abandoned me in the mid- 
dle of the room ! He was very full of 
information about himself, and talked of 
his place, his shooting, his hunters, his 
intimate friend the Duke of Albion, and 
his sister la Comtesse de Boulotte. 

As we danced, he paused several times 
to rest and to take breath, and as we stood 
against the wall on one occasion, I found 
that my neighbor was Miss Chalgrove. 

“ Ah, so here you are ! ” she exclaimed 
gaily. “We ought to know one another, 
don’t you think so — and without any 


160 The Real Lady Hilda. 

formal introduction ? Are you staying 
in Stonebrook ? ” 

“ Yes, for the present.” 

“ You hunt, of course ? ” gazing at me 
eagerly. 

“ Not I. I have never even been on a 
horse’s back.” 

“ What ! ” she ejaculated, as if such an 
idea was too difficult to grasp. 

“ Then we are not alike in everything. 
Why, I ” — touching herself with her fan 
— “ live in the saddle — spend my days 
there, and would sleep there if it were 
possible.” 

“ Yes, I know. I’ve heard you are a 
splendid horsewoman.” 

“ I’m going to have such a day to- 
morrow ! I’ve brought over a new hunter, 
a French steeplechaser, and mean to cut 
them all down — men and women. Look 
out, and you’ll see an account in the Field .' 1 ' 1 


“ We Need not Ask.” 161 

“Yes — I shall certainly look for it, and 
I hope you will get the brush.” 

“ Have you any sisters ? ” she asked 
suddenly. 

“ No — no sisters or brothers.” 

“ Neither have I. How I wish ” 

Whatever she was about to wish was 
cut short by her impatient partner, who 
now put in his claim, and plunged along 
with her into the revolving crowd. 

I danced with Mr. Aubrey Price (the 
owner of thirty hunters), and as we sub- 
sequently promenaded in the long cor- 
ridor, we encountered a spare, gray-haired, 
gentlemanly man, who stared so fixedly 
at me that I felt quite uncomfortable. 

“ That is Lord Chalgrove,” said Mr. 
Price. “ He looked as if he knew you ? ” 

“ Oh no, he does not. I have never 
seen him in my life.” 

“ Well, I hope he will manage to recog- 

ii 


162 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


nize you again, at any rate. I wish he 
would keep his daughter in order ! What 
do you think she said to me just now ? ” 

“ I am sure I cannot imagine.” 

“ That she would like to hold a class 
to teach young men manners ? ” 

“ Were you to be a pupil ? ” 

“ Of course ! I shouldn’t wonder if 
my would-be teacher comes to grief to- 
morrow. It’s a nasty country, tricky 
fences, and, by Jove ! by all accounts, 
she has got a horse to match.” 

“ Why does her father allow her to ride 
him ?” 

“ Allow her ! It’s little you know 
Dolly Chalgrove. She allows him to hunt 
— she allows him to call his soul his own ! 
He gives her a very loose rein ; he is a 
widower, you see, and she’s his only child, 
and very clever and taking, and like a 
sister of his that was ill-treated and that 


“We Need not Ask." 163 

died, and so he makes it up to Dolly. 
Capital business for Dolly, eh ? ” 

“ Yes, I suppose it is, in some ways.” 

“ A wonderful girl to ride to hounds, 
has a string of hunters and pays top 
prices ; very odd, but very good-hearted 
and genuine — no nonsense about her. 
They say she is to marry Somers. I’m 
not sure that he quite sees it, but his 
mother is awfully keen on it. He will be 
Lord Chalgrove if he lives long enough ; 
his father is the next male heir, and it 
would be a sound thing to keep the money 
and the title in the same family. The 
Somers are fearfully hard up.” 

“ Are they ? ” 

“ Yes ; so I suppose it is bound to come 
off. Lady Hildegarde is very strong.” 

“ Then you take for granted that Miss 
Chalgrove would accept Mr. Somers as a 
matter ” 


164 The Real Lady Hilda. 

“ As a matter of course,” he finished 
briskly. 

“ What nonsense ! How can you 
tell ? ” 

“ A straw shows how the wind blows ! ” 

“ I give you that straw for your opinion 
and,” now warming up, “ I think it is too 
bad to discuss a girl, and take all sorts of 
things for granted. It is taking a great 
liberty with her name.” 

“ Hullo, now I’m catching it ! I mean 
no harm ; every one discusses his neigh- 
bors’ little affairs. I don’t know what we 
should do without them. If you bar that 
subject, what are we to talk about — come 
now ? ” 

“ Books, politics, the weather.” 

“ No, thank you ” — with great scorn. 

“ Well, then, horses.” 

“ Ah, that’s better.” 

We were now in the ball-room once 


“ We Need not Ask.” 165 

more, where we were promptly joined by 
Mr. Somers. 

“You look as if you two were quarrel- 
ing,” he remarked ; “ so I think I had 
better separate you at once.” 

“ Yes, I’m crushed flat. I’m not to talk 
of my neighbors. We have fought over 
Miss Chalgrove.” 

“ Indeed ! That is strange, for she and 
I have just had a severe passage-at-arms.” 

“ Oh, that does not surprise me ! It’s 
quite en regie” and he grinned signifi- 
cantly. 

Mr. Somers took no notice of the im- 
pudent hint, but said, “ It’s about a horse 
she will ride, in spite of her father or any 
one — a steeplechaser she has picked up — 
and she is bound to have some nasty ac- 
cident if some one does not shoot him. 
I’ve a good mind to shoot him myself, 
although he is a magnificent fencer, and 


1 66 The Real Lady Hilda. 

can go all day — a French horse, called 
Diable Vert.” 

“ Oh, by Jove ! I know him — a real 
nasty-tempered brute. He won two or 
three good races, and then cut up rusty. 
They say he killed a jockey at Au- 
teuil.” 

I stood against the wall between the two 
men as they talked, and noticed that the 
sofas were occupied, the recesses of the 
windows full of lookers-on. Lady Bloss 
and her daughter were sitting together, 
and surveying me and my companions 
with unaffected interest. The former 
presently beckoned to me to approach. I 
did so, rather reluctantly, followed by my 
two cavaliers, whilst Sir Fulke hovered 
at a little distance. 

“ Oh, good evening, Miss Hayes,” said 
Lady Bloss, in her loftiest manner. “ So 
surprised to see you here ! ” — looking me 


“ We Need not Ask.” 167 

slowly up and down. “ Pray, where is 
Mrs. Hayes ? ” 

“ She is at home,” I meekly replied. 

“ And so you came alone ; how very 
independent ! ” 

“ Oh no ; I came with the Miss 
Bennys.” 

“ I did not know that you ever went out 
of an evening. We had a little dance 
last week, and I would have asked you, only 
I did not think you would like the expense 
of a fly ! ” And she threw back her head, 
and sniffed. 

I am sure Mr. Somers heard, and also 
Mr. Price ; and a girl at the other side of 
Lady Bloss tittered quite audibly. 

I, however, merely bowed. It was a 
safe reply. What could I say ? — the ex- 
pense of a fly was an object to me. How- 
ever, I was soon whirling round the room 
with my partner; and I had numerous 


i68 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


partners, I could have danced every dance 
thrice over. Yes, I was enjoying myself 
enormously. I suppose my head was 
turned ; I could not understand myself. 
I was surely a changeling. My luxurious 
surroundings, my splendid gown had 
transformed me. As I have said before, 
it was another young woman than Gwen- 
doline Hayes — a stranger, who was walk- 
ing about in her body, who received 
admiring glances with an air of cool 
unconcern, who accepted Sir Fulke’s and 
Mr. Price’s petits soins with affable conde- 
scension. 

I saw Lady Polexfen fanning herself 
languidly in the doorway. As I passed 
out on her brother’s arm there was a block, 
and we stood for an instant side by side. 
She was splendidly dressed in silver bro- 
cade and sea-green, and ablaze with dia- 
monds ; her waist resembled an hour-glass, 


“ We Need not Ask.” 169 

and her hair was dressed French style, 
over her ears. She affected not to see me, 
but she was as fully conscious of my vicin- 
ity as I was of hers. A tall, dark, sar- 
donic man was beside her. Her brother 
did not notice her, but I did, as she turned 
to the dark man and whispered something, 
at which he laughed delightedly — and 
then looked hard at me. 

Mr. Somers took me in to supper. It 
was served at little tables — a commendable 
arrangement — and we sat down tete-a-tete. 

“ I suppose you are staying with friends 
in the neighborhood ? ” said my com- 
panion in his genial voice. 

“ No ; we are only in lodgings in Stone- 
brook.” 

“ Lodgings ! I did not know there were 
such things to be had. Don’t you find it 
rather — rather — slow ? ” 

“We must cut our coat according to 




170 The Real Lady Hilda. 

our cloth. We cannot afford grand quar- 
ters.” (I saw his eyes fixed momentarily 
on my, so to speak, “ coat ” of filmy lace 
and satin.) “ The doctors ordered my 
stepmother out of London to some dry, 
bracing climate. Of course, we should 
have preferred Biarritz, or Nice ; but — 
well, here we are at Stonebrook instead, 
and it suits Emma pretty well.” 

“You have seen my mother, of course ? ” 

“ Oh yes, she has been to call on us.” 
I was on the eve of adding — and we are 
to dine with you en famille on Christmas 
Day ; but something inexplicable re- 
strained me. 

“ She has only lately returned home, 
and I hope we shall often see you and 
Mrs. Hayes ? ” 

I made no answer. I did not think his 
wish was at all likely to be realized. 

“ By the way, you saw Miss Chalgrove. 


“We Need not Ask.” 171 

Do you know that you are curiously alike 
in appearance — only you are much the 
taller of the two? The resemblance 
struck me the first time I saw you ; 
you might be sisters, or, at any rate 
cousins.” 

“ I have no sisters or cousins.” 

“ Oh, surely you must have cousins — 
even half a dozen. Why, I possess half a 
hundred.” 

“If I have, I have never heard of 
them.” 

“ Do you mean to say that you have no 
relations ? ” 

“ None that I know of. My father had 
an only brother in the navy. He was 
drowned years ago, and he himself lived 
in India so long that he lost sight of all 
his connections.” (I did not mention my 
mother. Why should I tell him that she 
had been disowned by her family ?) “I 


172 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


had not seen my father since I was eight 
years old.” 

“ Then I saw him, and knew him well, 
quite recently — knew him better than you 
did, if I may say so, Miss Hayes, for, of 
course, two men have more in common 
than a man and a little girl in pinafores. 
He was a rare good sort.” 

“ Yes, I believe he was. I wish he was 
alive now with all my heart. It seems so 
hard that people in the prime of life are 
cut off, and old men and women who have 
lived their lives out, and are tired of 
existence, drag on wearily year after 
year.” 

“ Yes, there’s my poor father,” said 
Mr. Somers ; “ his bodily health is good 
— it is the health of a young man — whilst 
his mind is dying.” 

I had heard of that, but felt it only 
polite to express sympathetic surprise. 


“We Need not Ask.” 173 

“ He was in a railway accident years 
ago, and it’s coming against him now. 
And how is Mrs. Hayes ? ” he inquired, 
rather abruptly. 

“ Pretty well.” 

“ I am coming to see her immediately 
— to-morrow — only it is a hunting day ; 
but, perhaps, I can look in for a flying 
visit.” 

“ And was your expedition successful ? ” 
I asked. 

“ No, not a bit. The business part was 
a dead failure, and only throwing good 
money after bad ; but, as you may have 
noticed, I’m not at all clever. I did my 
little best, and I could do no more. How- 
ever, I enjoyed the trip, as a trip, ex- 
tremely. There is the band again : shall 
we go and take a turn ? ” 

“ But I believe I am engaged to some 
one,” I answered, rising all the same. 


174 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


“ Pray, how can you tell ? you have no 
program — no, not even a shirt-cuff ! ” 

And thus persuaded, against my con- 
science, we began ; but, before I had been 
twice round the room, I was claimed by 
Sir Fulke, and not alone Sir Fulke, but a 
little weather-beaten cavalry man, who 
was very positive that “ this was his 
dance.” 

As we stood disputing amicably, I was 
suddenly arrested by a higher power. 
Alas ! poor Cinderella’s trivial triumph 
was over, her hour had come. 

The Miss Bennys waylaid me with 
grave, determined faces, much to my com- 
panions’ disgust, and Miss Benny said in 
a very loud voice — 

“ Scott, the fly man, is waiting, Miss 
Hayes. We promised not to detain him 
after one o’clock ; it is now half-past one. 
Therefore, if you are returning in our 


“We Need not Ask.” 175 

charge, I must ask you to come home at 

once.” 

“ And my dance ? ” cried Mr. Aubrey 
Price. 

“ And mine ? ” echoed Sir Fulke. 

There was no use in attempting to 
resist them — no time to take leave of my 
hostess : she was at supper. I was in the 
Miss Bennys’ clutches ; they were inexor- 
able. This was their moment of triumph, 
and I was carried away, followed to the 
very door of the fly by four eligible part- 
ners, uttering loud regrets. 

Mr. Somers pressed my hand as he 
said good-by, and added, “ I shall look 
forward to seeing you soon — in a day or 
two.” 

“We need not ask if you have enjoyed 
yourself, Miss Hayes,” exclaimed the elder 
Miss Benny in an acrid key. “ I admire 
your” — I thought perhaps she was going 


176 The Real Lady Hilda. 


to say dress or dancing, but it was my — 
“ wonderful self-confidence ! Mrs. Chol- 
mondeley seems to have quite taken you 
up ! She is fond of doing that ; she took 
a fancy to an Australian girl, she met 
on board ship, and actually brought her 
home, and had her with her, taking her 
everywhere for months. People called 
her the kangaroo ; she was a horror.” 

The tone implied, that I was a horror 
also, — if not actually a kangaroo. I burst 
out laughing. I laughed loud and long ; 
I could not stop. I suppose I was almost 
hysterical. The reaction from the late 
brilliant scene, where I had been made 
much of, where I had danced and enjoyed 
the pleasures of this life for the very 
first time, where I had been conscious of 
whispered flattering comments, and elo- 
quently flattering eyes, where I had sniffed 
a little of the intoxicating incense of ad- 


We Need not Ask. 1 


177 


miration, and felt that youth and beauty 
are a great power, was too much. Then 
to come down to being one of four in a 
close stuffy fly, to remember the dingy 
little bedroom in which I must shed my 
fine eathers — how seven-and-sixpence 
for my share of the conveyance would 
pinch my weekly purse, and that I had 
forgotten to buy bacon for the mor- 
row’s breakfast ! All these thoughts and 
contrasts were jumbled up in my excited 
brain, and I laughed loud and long. My 
indecorous hilarity was succeeded by a 
freezing silence — a terrible, accusing, 
blank silence, which lasted the whole way 
home. For five long miles there was not 
a sound in that fly, save a sneeze or a 
yawn. The experience was appalling ; it 
got upon my nerves. I felt inclined to 
sing or to scream. Luckily I controlled 
myself, or I should probably have been 


178 The Real Lady Hilda. 


delivered at the door of the lunatic asylum. 
At last we drove up to Mrs. Gabb’s. I 
opened the door and sprang out, then I 
politely thanked the Miss Bennys for 
their escort, and wished them all a fair 
good night — which met with no response. 


“Who are These Chalgroves ?” 179 


CHAPTER X. 

“ WHO ARE these chaegroves ? ” 

I ret myself in with a latchkey — Mr. 
Gabb’s own particular key — and crept 
stealthily up-stairs, hoping that Emma 
was asleep, and that I could thus sneak 
past her door unheard ; but no : she was 
evidently on the watch for my return, and 
called out to me to come into her room, 
desiring me to “ turn up the lamp, take 
off my cloak, and tell her all about it ! ” 

I obediently sat down on a low chair 
facing her, and began to describe every- 
thing to the best of my power ; the drive, 
the arrival, the lovely old house, the 
crowds, the dresses, and how Mrs. Choi- 


i8o The Real Lady Hilda. 

mondeley had singled me out and intro- 
duced me to partners. 

“ Your dress is almost as fresh as ever 
— that is one comfort. Was Lady Hilde- 
garde present ? ” inquired Emma anx- 
iously. 

“ No, only Lady Polexfen. She did not 
notice me. But Mr. Somers was also there. 
He fulfilled your fondest hopes — he 
‘ noticed me ’ a good deal.” 

“ What do you mean, Gwen ? ’’ 

“ I mean that he danced with me three 
or four times, took me in to supper, and 
finally put me into the fly.” 

“ That was very kind of him. Just like 
him ! » 

“ Oh, I had plenty of partners. I was 
not at all an object of charity, I can assure 
you ! Mr. Somers asked for you, and said 
he was coming to see you immediately, 
and oh, Emma, I had such a curious ex- 


“Who are These Chalgroves?” 181 

perience ! I met a girl to-night who 
might be my own sister, we are so much 
alike. She remarked the resemblance 
too, and Mr. Somers said that it struck 
him the first time he ever met me.” 

“ And who was she ? ” 

“ A Miss Chalgrove ; the Honorable 
Dolly Chalgrove.” 

I noticed that Emma gave a little start. 
“ My mother’s .name was Chalgrove. 
This girl and I are so much alike that we 
might be cousins. She is so bright and 
animated and fascinating, that I took a 
fancy to her on the spot. I wish she was 
my cousin. It is really too bad that I 
have no relatives, not a single cousin, and 
Mr. Somers has fifty ! ” 

“ I dare say you have fifty third or 
fourth cousins somewhere in the west of 
Ireland,” said Emma shading her face 
with her hand (and I noticed with a sharp 


182 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


pang how thin and transparent that hand 
had become). “ But it would take a life- 
time to discover them, and probably they 
would not repay the trouble. Your father 
was not anxious to claim them. After his 
mother’s and his brother’s death, some 
‘ cousin ’ took advantage of his absence 
abroad to claim the little property that 
was his by right. He might have gone to 
law, but he would not. It would have 
brought him home, and cost him another 
fortune.” 

“ Well, but, Emma, what about my 
mother’s relations ? ” 

“ They were a forbidden topic — a dead 
letter. Your father could not bear their 
name mentioned. They were very grand 
people, who expected their only daughter 
to make a brilliant match, instead of run- 
ning away with a penniless army doctor 
— they never acknowledged her, never for- 


“Who are These Chalgroves?” 183 

gave her, no, never noticed her, no more 
than if she had ceased to exist. She 
fretted a good deal when she was in poor 
health. She wrote, and they returned the 
letter unopened. Your father, easy-going 
man as he was, resented this to the 
end of his days ; and when he received 
a letter after her death, he treated it 
in the same fashion — returned it as it 
came.” 

“ But all this time, who are these Chal- 
groves ? Please tell me, Kmma, for of 
course you know.” 

“ Yes ; but your father did not wish you 
to know. However, circumstances alter 
cases. He never dreamt that you would 
be left almost homeless and friendless, 
instead of living under his own roof, sur- 
rounded with every comfort and pleasure 
his love could give you.” 

“Yes, of course, I know all that — I am 


184 The Real Lady Hilda. 


confident of that ; but, once more, about 
the Chalgroves ? ” 

“ I will tell you another time — to- 
morrow ” 

“ No, no ; now. Please, please ; it 
won’t take you five minutes, and I shall 
not rest or sleep till you satisfy me.” 

“ I can tell you very little, dear. Your 
father was extremely reticent 011 this one 
subject ; but I believe that he and your 
mother met at a fancy ball. It was a 
case of love at first sight on both sides. 
Her people would not hear of it. She 
was extremely pretty, charming, and 
young, and they expected her to make a 
splendid match. They hurried her away 
to a distant country place, but it was all 
of no use ; and when she heard that he 
was going to India she insisted on ac- 
companying him, and she ran away and 
they were married in London. I believe 


“Who are These Chalgroves ? ” 185 

she made an attempt to see her people 
and say farewell before she sailed, but 
they refused to receive her, and sent out 
a message, ‘ Not at home.’ She did not 
want anything from them, only to say 
good-by. They were furious, and never 
forgave her; her father was inflexible. 
He and her mother are dead long ago. 
Her brother is Lord Chalgrove.” 

“ I saw him to-night,” I broke in ; “he 
looked so hard at me ! — I suppose he no- 
ticed the likeness. And he is my uncle, 
and that nice girl is my first cousin. 
How strange ! ” 

“ Yes. How strange that you should 
come across them here ! They live in 
Northamptonshire, where they have a 
lovely old place called The Chase. Your 
mother was the Honorable Gwendoline 
Chalgrove, but she dropped the prefix al- 
together when she married, so I was told 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


186 

by people at Jam-Jam-More. She was a 
most graceful, elegant creature, a splendid 
horsewoman, but as ignorant of the value 
of money, or of housekeeping, as an infant 
— as, indeed, I might say, myself ! Your 
father was devoted to her memory, and I 
was never one bit jealous. Her memory 
was dear to me, too, though I never saw 
her. There was something so touching 
and so romantic about her life — a delicate 
girl brought up in luxury, abandoning 
everything for love, and fading away like a 
fragile flower in an uncongenial climate ! 

“ Your father used to go and look at 
her grave every Sunday morning. Over 
it there stood a white cross, and just the 
one word ‘ Gwendoline.’ He kept all her 
little belongings under lock and key, in 
a leather despatch-box — her Prayer-book, 
sketches, and letters (I gave you her 
little trinkets) ; they are all in the big 


“Who are These Chalgroves?” 187 

bullock trunk down-stairs, along with 
your father’s books and clothes. I’ve 
never had the heart to open it. Mrs. 
Gabb keeps it in the back hall. Would 
you like to examine it ? ” 

“ Yes, I should very much.” 

“And these people that you met to- 
night — it was certainly a wonderful chance 
your coming across them. I am so glad 
you wore your white satin, darling. Per- 
haps your uncle may make inquiries, and 
find out who you are. Of course, the first 
advances — any advances — must come from 
them." 

“ Of course ! ” I assented emphatically. 

“You may suppose that it was a delicate 
question for me to meddle with — a second 
wife ; but once or twice I did venture to 
say that it was a pity to lose sight of 
the Chalgroves, on your account. Your 
father never would hear me out ; you 


i88 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


were never to know them. The topic 
was his Bluebeard’s closet, and I dared 
not open it.” 

“ I don’t wonder.” 

“ Oh, you must not be like him. I have 
heard that the present lord is a simple, 
unaffected, homely man. He may dis- 
cover you — why not ? — from the likeness, 
if he even heard your name.” 

And she pushed back her hair, and sat 
up in bed, her eyes blazing with excite- 
ment. An alluring vision was before them 
as she spoke. She already beheld me 
comfortably installed in Chalgrove Chase ! 
Oh, I knew her so well ! 

“You have got an idea into your head,” 
I said, “ and please, please, chase it out 
immediately. Lord Chalgrove will never 
seek me out ; he does not know of my ex- 
istence. He was probably surprised to 
see that an ordinary young woman had 


“Who are These Chalgroves?” 189 

been endowed with the family type of 
feature. He will never give me another 
thought, no more than if he saw a groom 
wearing a suit of clothes resembling the 
Chalgrove livery. His daughter, who is 
not at all conventional, actually addressed 
me, and asked how I came by the Chal- 
grove eyebrows.” 

“Oh, my dear Gwen! And what did 
you say ? ” 

“ What could I say? ” I answered, ris- 
ing. “I said nothing. ‘How does one 
say nothing?’ To you I say, at last. 
‘ Good night.’ ” And, stooping down, I 
kissed her, and, gathering up my various 
accouterments, departed, and crept up to 
my own room. 

But I did not go to bed immediately. I 
sat brushing my long fair locks, and 
slowly reviewing all the events of this 
remarkable evening. 


190 The Real Lady Hilda. 

Between intervals of hair-brushing, I 
studied the Chalgrove brows and upper 
lip that confronted me in that miserable 
looking-glass. The eyebrows were slightly 
arched, finely penciled, and quite black. 
The Chalgrove lip was short, and a little 
— well, if not scornful — haughty. And it 
was a lying lip : for, as far as one is per- 
mitted to know one’s self, I was neither. 

The clock was striking three when I 
crept into bed, and fell asleep almost as 
my head touched the pillow, and enjoyed 
unusually interesting dreams. 

The next morning a brace of pheasants 
and a huge bouquet of violets were left at 
the hall door, with Mr. Everard Somers’ 
compliments for Mrs. Hayes. 

We went to tea at the rectory that after- 
noon. I took my guitar, by request, and 
played and sang. I was becoming quite 
a society girl ! I wore a smart toque— 


“Who are These Chalgroves?” 191 

made by my own hands — and a bunch of 
violets, and received an unusual share of 
the conversation. The fame of my debut 
had been noised abroad ; one girl asked 
me where I got my guitar ribbons ; an- 
other, where I got my toque ; a third, 
where I had obtained the lovely violets, 
and who was my dressmaker ? 

“ I hear your daughter looked quite 
nice last night,” said Mrs. Blunt (our 
rector’s wife), affably. 

“ Nonsense, mother,” said her well- 
named daughter. “We were told she 
was the beauty of the evening, the cyno- 
sure of all eyes, and I’m sure I am not 
surprised.” 

When we returned home it was late, 
and we were sorry to find that Mr. Somers 
had called : his card lay on the table. 

Mrs. Gabb hurried up after us to ex- 
plain. 


192 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


“ I thought as how you were in, Mrs. 
Hayes, so I asked him up, and he sat and 
waited for over half an hour. He wrote 
a bit of a note. It’s there in the blotter.” 
And there it was : 

“ So sorry not to find you at home. I 
am off to town the day after Christmas for 
a short time. Hope to see you when I 
return. 


“ E. SJ 


Mrs. Mound’s Opinion. 


193 


CHAPTER XI. 

MRS. MOUND’S OPINION. 

On Christmas morning, Emma com- 
plained of a cold and a sharp pain in her 
chest. She did not venture to church, as 
it was a bitterly bleak day, but nursed 
herself up for the evening, declaring that 
in a snug brougham, with furs and a foot- 
warmer, she could brave Greenland itself. 
Mrs. Gabb and family were also spending 
the evening abroad. 

“ Hearing as you was dining and sleep- 
ing at the Abbey, ma’am, I take the liberty 
of leaving you,” she explained. (It was 
not the first liberty she had taken.) “ I’ll 
have everything ready — candles and coal 

13 


194 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


and hot-water — to last till half-past seven. 
We — Gabb and me and the children and 
Annie — are invited to my sister’s for six 
o’clock, and she lives a good bit the other 
side of the town. But, if it will incon- 
venience you, I’ll leave Annie to help you 
to dress, or anything.” 

“ No, no ; not on any account.” Emma 
assured her that we could manage per- 
fectly. “ Please do not trouble about us,” 
she added, “ but just see to the lights and 
fire. We will turn down the lamp before 
we leave.” 

“ There is nothing in the house for 
breakfast. But I suppose it won’t be re- 
quired. You won’t be back till late in 
the forenoon ? ” 

To which Emma smilingly assented. 

As Emma believed that this festivity 
would be merely the forerunner of many, 
she took great pains with my dress, was 


Mrs. Mound’s Opinion. 195 

most fastidious about the arrangement of 
my hair and the fit of my gloves, and put 
a finishing touch to my toilet in the shape 
of a curious old native necklet, made of 
amethysts and real pearls. 

At last we were ready — all save our 
cloaks. Emma looked wonderfully pretty 
— her color was so brilliant, her eyes shone 
— the light of other days was in her face. 
^Excitement and anticipation had thrown 
her into a fever of restlessness ; it seemed 
to her active brain that so very much — in 
fact, all my future — was to hinge upon 
this eventful evening. If Lady Hil degarde 
(who was devoted to young people, and ex- 
tremely fond of society) took a fancy to 
me, the thing was done — I was launched. 
If not, there was, I’m sure she firmly 
believed, an end of everything. I was 
doomed, and for life, to social extinction 
and obscurity. 


196 The Real Lady Hilda. 


We sat waiting, with merely the blinds 
down, so that we could easily scan the 
street. It was a bright moonlight night, 
and there was a sharp frost. The lamp was 
sputtering and blinking and making it- 
self extremely unpleasant for lack of wick. 

“We will turn it out,” I said, “ and 
light the candles. There are only two 
small bits, but the carriage will be here im- 
mediately — in fact, I hear it now.” 

Yes, a pair of horses, trotting briskly 
up the hard-frozen street. No ; they went 
past. 

“ It is Lady Bloss,” said Emma, pulling 
up the blind and actually opening the 
window ; “ she is dining at the Chol- 
mondeleys’. But I hear another coming. 
Ah, it’s only a dog-cart ! ” 

“ Do shut the window ! ” I implored ; 
but I spoke to deaf ears. 

There were wheels in the distance — a 


Mrs. Mound’s Opinion. 197 

long way off — and I was not to worry, but 
to put on my cloak at once. 

Five minutes elapsed — ten minutes. I 
rose and pulled down tbe window without 
apology. A quarter of an hour ! 

“Yes,” cried Emma, half-hysterically ; 
“ the carriage is rather late, but I really 
hear it now. It is coming at last ! ” 

But, no ; it was merely Mound the under- 
taker, and family, in his own best mourn- 
ing coach. Then Emma’s little travel- 
ing-clock chimed out eight silvery strokes. 

“ And they dine at eight ! ” said Emma, 
under her breath. “ Perhaps it was half- 
past,” she said. “ Can the coachman have 
made a mistake ? ” And she looked at 
me with — oh, such a piteous, wistful, eager 
pair of eyes. 

I made no reply. I dared not put my 
opinion into plain, brutal words, and tell 
the white-faced, anxious little inquirer, 


198 The Real Lady Hilda. 


that “ her friend Lady Hildegarde had 
forgotten us ! ” The fire had died down. 
The candles were expiring in their sockets. 
We sat together in absolute silence. Oh, 
if I live to be a hundred, I shall never for- 
get the heartache I endured that miserable 
half-hour — not for myself, but for Emma. 

At last she said, in a husky whisper — 

“ Gwen, Gwen ! Are you asleep ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Is it possible that she has forgotten 
us?” 

“ I’m afraid so,” I whispered. 

“ Oh no, she couldn’t. Christmas Day, 
too, and our places at table ! That would 
remind her — two places short. Or, could 
it be possible? — she was always rather 
heedless — yes ” — now coming over to me, 
and looking at me with a haggard, white 
face — “ you are right, she must have for- 
gotten all about us. And she spent 


Mrs. Mound’s Opinion. 199 

Christmas with me in my palmy days, 
and said — oh, what is the good of recall- 
ing it all now ? Here are we two, on 
Christmas night, desolate and alone, with- 
out dinner or fire, and soon we shall be in 
outer darkness ” — pointing to the candle. 
“ Oh, it is too, too cruel ” — and she burst 
into tears. “ I had built on it so,” she 
sobbed — “ this little visit, not for myself, 
but for you ; I thought she would ask you 
to stay, and befriend you perhaps — when 
— when ” 

“ Never mind about me, darling,” I said 
kneeling down beside her, “ she is a hard, 
selfish, worldly woman. I saw through her 
long ago. We bored her fearfully. She 
did not want us here. She was afraid we 
might become an incubus, because we 
are poor. She asked us in a spasm of 
shame at her own conduct, and on the 
impulse of the moment. Don’t cry — don’t, 


200 The Real Lady Hilda. 

dearest ! We must make the best of it. 
Oh, how cold the room is ! I’ll take off my 
gown, and hunt up some chips and light 
a good fire, and go and see if I can’t find 
something to eat. I wonder where the 
matches are ? ” 

In a very short time I had changed my 
dress and made a trip to the lower regions. 
Here I found some bits of coal and chips, 
the heel of a loaf, and, about a pint of skim- 
milk. 

“ Oh, Gwen dear,” gasped Emma, as I 
re-entered, “ I must go to bed, I feel so 
ill. I’ve been fighting against it all day ; 
but now there is a pain in my chest, just 
like a sword being run into it.” 

And Emma stood up, and clutched 
hold of the chimney-piece, and turned on 
me a face gray and drawn with mortal 
suffering. 

I was naturally greatly alarmed. I 


Mrs. Mound’s Opinion. 201 

hurried her into her room, undressed her, 
and put her to bed. 

“ I’m so cold — oh, so cold ! ” she moaned; 
and so she was. But, alas, there was no 
fire, no hot water, no anything ! I was at 
my wits’ end ; then I suddenly bethought 
me of Mrs. Mound. I knew she was at 
home, and ran across to the little private 
door. After a very short interval, and as 
soon as I had breathlessly explained my 
troubles, Mrs. Mound (good, kind soul !) 
came over bearing a kettle of ho water, 
some mustard, and a lamp. She had 
despatched her eldest son to fetch Dr. 
Skuce without a moment’s delay. 

“ Your mother taken ill, and you all 
alone ! ” she said. “ Dear, dear, dear ! 
it’s terrible indeed ! I’ll just fill a hot 
bottle and take it in, and have a look at 
her.” 

Emma lay on her little bed, moaning 


202 The Real Lady Hilda. 

and gasping in the grip of a great 
agony. 

“ You’ll be all right soon, ma’am. I’ll 
light a nice little fire, and get you a warm 
drink ; and I have sent one of my boys 
for Skuce.” 

She spoke to us both in the same cheer- 
ful and encouraging manner ; but I heard 
her distinctly talking to her husband 
over the balustrades. What she said was 
evidently not for my ear, and nearly 
turned me to stone. 

“ It’s a bad business, Isaac. The poor 
little thing is past Skuce or any one. 
There will be a job for j you here, before 
many days are over. I’ve seen pneumonia 
before — she has got it as bad as can be. 
Nothing can save her — I knew that, the 
moment I saw her face. Poor lady, she 
will be gone before the New Year ! ” 


Indian Papers, Please Copy.” 203 


CHAPTER XII. 

“ INDIAN PAPERS, PLEASE COPY.’’ 

All that miserable Christmas night 
Emma was desperately ill. The little 
lodging-house was in an uproar, and Mrs. 
Gabb was unmistakably annoyed at the 
prospect of having an invalid on her 
hands. Of course I undertook all the 
nursing, wrung out hot stupes, dressed 
blisters, administered draughts, and 
towards morning the patient fell asleep. 

About twelve o’clock, when I chanced 
to go into our sitting-room, I discovered 
that it was already in possession of Miss 
Skuce, who was walking up and down like 
some caged animal. 


204 The Real Lady Hilda. 

“ So your mother is ill? ’’she began 
abruptly. 

“ Very ill, I am afraid. It was kind of 
you to come so soon to ask for her.” 

“ And you never went to the Abbey, 
after all ! The curate was there — I have 
just seen him — and he said there were no 
empty places, nor one word about you. 
How was that ? ” she demanded, as she 
paused and glared at me. 

“ Please speak in a low voice,” I said, 
“ the walls are so thin, and Emma is not 
deaf. The truth was, that Lady Hilde- 
garde forgot us altogether.” 

“ Tell me honestly, Miss Hayes, did she 
ever ask you ? I’d like to see her note.” 

“You know, we told you that it was a 
verbal invitation. We were ready to start 
at half-past seven. We allowed Mrs. 
Gabb to leave us alone in the house. 
There was, of course, no dinner, no food, 


“ Indian Papers, Please Copy.” 205 

no fire, no lights ; and there we sat 
famishing ! My stepmother, who had 
been ailing all day, became seriously ill. 
She has fallen asleep now, after a very 
bad night, and must on no account be 
disturbed.” 

“ It’s most extraordinary : and her 
ladyship never even missed you. And 
now she has gone off to Brighton for a 
week.” 

“ Well, it is quite immaterial to me. I 
never wish to see her again,” I rejoined 
in an emphatic whisper. 

“ It certainly is most mortifying,” said 
Miss Skuce, seating herself in Emma’s 
chair, and stretching out her goloshed 
feet. “ To be asked to the Abbey, and to 
puff the news everywhere — and then to 
be forgotten ! I had some eggs here ; 
but, as your mother is ill, I won’t leave 
them.” 


2 o 6 The Real Lady Hilda. 

“ No, pray don’t, on any account.” 

“ The Chalgroves have left the Moate, 
gone home, and nothing settled about the 
match. Young Somers is a fool. There 
is a rumor that he is in love with some 
wretched girl who hasn’t a penny, and 
Lady Hildegarde is nearly beside herself ! 
Lady Polexfen told Captain Blackjohn, 
and he told young Ferrars, who told his 
..mother, who told me. By the way, 
Lady Polexfen — Maude, you know — is 
making herself the talk of the place, the 
way she is flirting with Captain Black- 
john. However, I’m forgetting that yon 
are not Mrs. Hayes ; we should not talk 
gossip to girls. Well, I must be going. 
I hope your mother will be better to-mor- 
row ; good-by. Oh, by the way, I quite 
forgot to wish you the compliments of the 
season, and all the usual sort of thing. / 
don’t believe in a merry Christmas.” 


“ Indian Papers, Please Copy.” 207 

“ Neither do I,” I answered with all 
my heart. 

“ Well, good-by, good-by,” and seiz- 
ing the eggs, she trotted downstairs. 

The next day, Emma was much worse. 

“ Gwen,” she gasped in a weak voice, 
“ I am going to leave you ; and oh, I am 
so miserable about you ! My pension 
dies with me. We have barely what will 
pay our bills in hand. There is my 
watch, and some ornaments ; they will pay 
for — for the funeral — and — a ” 

“ Oh, don’t ! ” I sobbed. “ You are going 
to get well. You must and shall get well.” 

“ You have only eleven pounds a year, 
Gwen, — oh, my poor, poor Gwen, what 
will you do ? Oh, if your father and I 
could only have seen the future ! And I 
have no friends ! If it was next year, the 
Grahams and Murrays would be home. 
If only Lady Hildegarde ” 


2 o 8 The Real Lady Hilda. 

“ Don’t mention her name,” I cried 
passionately. “ And don’t trouble about 
me, darling. I shall manage. Think of 
nothing but yourself, and of getting well. 
You will, won’t yon ? ” 

“ No ; I’ve felt this coming for a long 
time. I am consumptive. The chill — 
oh ! oh ! this pain ” 

“ There, there ! yon shall not talk any 
more.” 

“ Oh, I must speak while I can — and 
I’m not afraid to go, Gwen. Why should 
I shrink from what all our beloved ones 
have passed through ? Only for leaving 
you — dearest — dearest Gwen,” and her 
voice died away. I sat for a long time, 
holding her clammy hand in mine. “ If 
the Chalgroves only knew ! ” she panted 
out. 

I was silent. As far as I was concerned, 
they should never know, nor would I ever 


“ Indian Papers, Please Copy.” 209 

lift a finger to summon my grand rela- 
tives. 

Her mind wandered a good deal. There 
were disjointed scraps of sentences, of 
songs, of prayers, and something about 
Lady Hildegarde and a merry Christmas ; 
and I could not understand whether she 
was rambling or not, as she said — 

“ A happy new year, Gwen, and many 
of them.” 

After this she sank into a stupor, from 
which she never awoke, and gasped away 
her life at that fatal hour before dawn 
when so many souls are summoned. Now 
I was indeed alone. I cried a little — 
not nearly as much as Mrs. Gabb. I was 
thankful that there was an end to Emma’s 
terrible sufferings ; but I felt in a sort 
of stupor myself — my brain seemed sod- 
den. I had not slept nor taken off my 

clothes for three days. Mrs. Gabb was 
14 


2X0 The Real Lady Hilda. 

very kind, so were Mrs. Mound, the 
Doctor, and even Miss Skuce — but she 
was also terribly inquisitive. 

The funeral was small, indeed, it could 
scarcely have been smaller. Dr. Skuce 
and I followed in the only mourning- 
coach. The cemetery was on a hillside, 
quite a mile from Stonebrook, and it was 
a bright springlike morning — a day that 
December had stolen from May, and that 
May would filch from December in turn — 
as we proceeded at a foot pace on our 
mournful errand. 

There was a meet in the neighborhood ; 
numbers of red-coated fox hunters trotted 
past on their hunters. One drew up for 
a moment to a walk, and lifted his hat 
as he went by. It was Mr. Somers. His 
scarlet coat, his bright handsome face, his 
spirited hunter, which he reined in with 
great difficulty — what a painful contrast 


“Indian Papers, Please Copy.” 21 1 

this picture afforded to that of myself — 
veiled, and shrinking into the corner of 
a dingy mourning-coach — following my 
only friend to her grave. 

Little did Mr. Somers suspect, as he 
dashed onward, that he had been showing 
a last token of respect to Emma Hayes. 

After the funeral, I had to face the 
world. Poor people cannot afford an 
extended period of retirement and mourn- 
ing. I made my black gown, and as I 
sewed, I made plans. I had nearly 
twenty pounds. I had youth, health. I 
would go to London and work for my 
bread like other girls. But how ? I could 
teach French. I could sew and embroider 
beautifully. No, I would not be a nursery 
governess, a bonne d'enfants. I could 
play the guitar and sing. I had a fine 
mezzo-soprano, and had been well taught. 


212 The Real Lady Hilda. 

My singing had been in requisition at 
the rectory tea-parties and in the church 
choir ; but it would not bring me in 
a pennyworth of bread. I must leave 
Stonebrook ; I saw no means of earning 
my living there, and I detested ' the place 
for many reasons. It was evidently well 
known that I had been left almost pen- 
niless. The rector and his wife had 
called ; they had been very sympathetic, 
and had inquired as to my future plans ; 
but they could not give me much beyond 
their sympathy. They had a large grown- 
up family, and but narrow means. Mrs. 
Cholmondeley was a victim to influenza, 
and extremely ill. The Blosses and 
Bennys had left cards, and this, with the 
exception of Miss Skuce, brought me to 
the end of my acquaintances. The mere 
fact of thinking of her appeared to have 
summoned her to my presence ! There 


“ Indian Papers, Please Copy.” 213 

she was, shaking her damp waterproof on 
the landing ; it was a dreary, drizzling 
January afternoon. 

“ Do you know that you have never 
put it in the papers ? ” she began, without 
preamble. “ I thought Mound would 
have seen to that. It ought to be done at 
once.” 

“Yes, of course ; and I have been ex- 
tremely remiss,” I acknowledged, with 
dismay. 

“ I will write it out and send it to the 
Times for you,” producing a pencil — “ the 
Times and the Stonebrook Star. What 
shall I say ? ” 

After thinking a moment, I said — 

‘“December 27th, at Stonebrook, of 
acute pneumonia, Emma, widow of the 
late Desmond Hayes, Esq., E. C. S., M. D., 
of Jam-Jam-More, aged thirty-three. 
Indian papers, please copy.’ ” 


214 The Real Lady Hilda. 

“ Very well. Now give me five and 
sixpence, and I will send it off by the 
next post,” returned Miss Skuce, when 
she had ceased to scribble. “ And so I 
hear you are leaving ! — Mrs. Gabb says 
you have given her notice.” 

“ Yes, I am going away very shortly to 
London.” 

“Well, I think it is an extremely wise 
move. There is no opening here for a 
governess or companion ; every one that 
I know is suited. I am very sorry for 
you, and for poor Mrs. Hayes; but I 
always felt that she was not long for this 
world. She was subject to delusions, 
wasn’t she, poor dear? That was all a 
delusion about Lady Hildegarde ! Of 
course, other people call it by a nastier 
name ; but / don’t ! ” 

“ What do you mean?” I demanded 
indignantly. 


“Indian Papers, Please Copy.” 215 

“ That the dear good soul imagined she 
knew Lady Hildegarde ! But no one ever 
saw her ladyship here, and you were not 
present at the dinner. The invitation and 
acquaintance were in her imagination. I 
am aware that Mr. Somers has sent game 
and flowers, and called ; but gentlemen’s 
attentions are on a totally different foot- 
ing from those of the ladies of a family, 
and it is quite incredible that his mother, 
Lady Hildegarde, would stay for weeks as 
guest under a person’s roof, that she 
would be nursed and tended like a sister, 
and absolutely ignore the same kind 
friend when she came to live near her, 
and was in very poor circumstances. It 
is impossible ! As for her photographs, 
they were bought in London. The 
Bennys always said so! ” 

“ Miss Skuce ! ” I paused, and then 
added in a calmer tone, “ It is not worth 


2l6 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


while debating the question. If you think 
we are impostors, I cannot help it ; but 
every word that my stepmother said was 
true ! ” 

“ Why ! ” cried my visitor, stretching 
out her neck and craning forward, “ here 
is Lady Hildegarde, I declare, and getting 
out ! Maude Polexfen is in the carriage. 
Her ladyship is coming in — in here.’’ 

“ I shall not receive her,” I answered, 
rushing to the bell, but remembering, as 
I tore at it, that it was broken. In an- 
other minute Lady Hildegarde was in the 
room, swimming towards me with beauti- 
fully gloved extended hands. 

“ Oh, my poor dear child ! What news 
is this ? Is it true about Mrs. Hayes ? ” 

“ If you mean that she is dead — yes,” I 
answered, still standing up, but making 
no effort to salute her. 

“ How frightfully sudden ! ” dropping 


“Indian Papers, Please Copy.” 217 

her hands to her sides and sinking into 
Emma’s chair. “ What was it ? — noth- 
ing infectious, I trust ? ” 

“No, nothing infectious.” 

“ Oh,” with a cool little nod, “ how do 
you do, Miss Skuce ? Pray ” (to me) 
“ tell me all particulars. My son only 
heard the sad news last evening. He 
was greatly shocked ; and he despatched 
me at once, as you see ! ” — Evidently she 
was not a little proud of her prompti- 
tude and condescension. 

“ She caught a severe cold on Christ- 
mas Day — ” I began. 

“ Oh, by the way, I’m so sorry ; I for- 
got all about sending for you — never 
thought of it once — actually not till my 
son brought me the melancholy intelli- 
gence last night. He wanted me to come 
off here then and there. I am so very 
sorry ! ” 


2l8 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


“You may well be sorry,” I answered, 
unable any longer to retain my attitude 
of frigid politeness, “ for your negligence 
indirectly caused my mother’s death. 
Yes ; she was so confident that you meant 
your invitation, that she allowed the 
people of the house to leave us, and here 
we sat that bitter night — perhaps you 
can remember the temperature — without 
fire or food, waiting for you to send for us. 
She would not believe that you could for- 
get her ; she thought so much of you — 
she was so genuine and affectionate. 
Miss Skuce, here, has been telling me 
that my mother suffered from delusions — 
that you never knew her in India. Did 
you?” 

“ Why, of course I did,” with a petu- 
lant gesture. 

“ And you stayed with her — for 
weeks.” 


“ Indian Papers, Please Copy.” 219 

“ Yes ; I never denied it, that I am 
aware of ! ” 

“ And were nursed by her through a 
serious illness ? Is this true, or was it a 
delusion ? ” 

“ My good young person ! pray don’t 
be so excited. I am not accustomed to 
be brow-beaten in this fashion. You need 
not look at me as if I were a reptile ! 
Come, I am a very busy woman ; I have 
many claims on my time and my society. 
I am overrun, and apt to be a little forget- 
ful ; and I admit that, with respect to 
your stepmother, I have been rather 
slack. However, I always meant to be 
friendly — I shall make it up to you. I 
am aware that you are left totally des- 
titute, and I know of a most excellent 
post which I can secure for you at once, 
as companion to a lady in New Zealand. 
I shall be happy to exert myself and get 


220 The Real Lady Hilda. 

you this situation without delay, and I 
promise ” 

“ Pray do not trouble yourself about 
me,” I broke in. “ I have no faith in 
your promises — or in you ! ” 

Here Lady Hildegarde rose very slowly 
to her feet, and vainly endeavored to 
overawe me by her look, and cover indig- 
nation with dignity. 

“ You forget yourself, Miss Hayes,” 
she said in a freezing tone. 

But I was now at bay, and replied — 

“ If you will be so good as to exert 
yourself so far as to forget me, I shall be 
extremely glad.” 

And then I held the door wide open, 
and, though my knees were shaking un- 
der me, I bowed her out. Turned out 
Lady Hildegarde ! Oh, what a tale for 
the town ! Miss Skuce, who had shrunk 
up into a corner, enjoyed the scene pro- 


“Indian Papers, Please Copy.” 221 

digiously, I am certain, though she felt it 
her duty to remonstrate most strongly 
with me. 

“ I apologize for all I said, for I have 
now her ladyship’s own words for her 
obligations to your stepmother, and I 
apologize to her memory. She was a dear, 
sweet, ladylike creature ! She would 
never have reproached Lady Hildegarde, 
nor flown at her like you. Oh, I shall 
never forget the look of you ! Nor how 
you dashed her offer in her face, and 
drove her out of the room. You should 
have pocketed your pride and taken her 
reference — a titled reference. You forget 
that you should order yourself lowly and 
reverently to all your betters.” 

“ Do you call that mean, selfish, un- 
grateful woman my better ? ” 

“ Of course I do ! ” with emphasis. 
“ There is no question of that ! Fancy 


222 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


comparing yourself to the daughter of a 
duke ! I think you behaved in a most 
vulgar, insulting, outrageous manner. 
You should ” 

“ Have played the hypocrite?” I sug- 
gested sarcastically. 

“ Well, well, I’ve no time to argue, for 
I must be going ; but, mark my words, 
your high temper will bring you very low 
yet, as sure as my name is Sophia Ann 
Skuce.” Exit. 


Kind Inquiries. 


223 


CHAPTER XIII. 

KIND INQUIRIES. 

“ So you’ll be going this day week ? ” 
remarked Mrs. Gabb, as she bustled in 
with the lamp. “ And I’m sure I can’t 
wonder ; it’s lonely-like for you being 
here in this room by yourself, and London 
is where most people goes to — it sort of 
sucks ’em in.” 

“ Yes ; people who have to earn their 
bread have a better chance of doing so in 
London.” 

“ You’ll go in for governessing, I sup- 
pose ? ” 

“ No. I’m afraid I am not sufficiently 
accomplished.” 


224 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


“ Laws ! I should have thought you 
was. But it’s a hard life, and poor pay, 
and often bad usage. And you do sing 
beautiful. Your voice sort of gives rue a 
lump in my throat, and many’s the night 
Gabb and I, and sometimes a friend or 
two, have stood on the stairs, and listened 
to you a-playing and singing to that gui- 
tar. I’m sure you’d take splendidly at one 
of the music ’alls, if you could only dance 
a bit ! Stop ; what’s that, now ? There’s 
a knock at the door, and the girl’s out.” 
And she rushed down-stairs, and in a very 
few seconds I was astonished to hear 
a manly foot in the passage, and she 
ushered in “ Mr. Somers.” 

He looked rather embarrassed, and 
very grave ; whilst I, though almost 
speechless with surprise, was collected 
enough as I put down my sewing and 
rose to meet him. 


Kind Inquiries. 


225 


“ Miss Hayes, I hope you will pardon 
me,” he said, “for intruding on you at 
this hour and in this way ; but I felt that 
writing would be useless, and that I must 
see you face to face. I am sure I need 
not tell you how much I feel for your 
loss, nor how shocked I was to hear of 
Mrs. Hayes’s death. I believe I actually 
passed her funeral, when I imagined her 
to be alive and well.” 

“ Yes, you did. Won’t you sit down ? ” 
I said. 

“We only heard the news last nighit. 
I was in hopes that my mother would 
have brought you back with her in the 
carriage to-day, insisted on your accom- 
panying her. I told her she must take no 
refusal, but — but ” — and he hesitated, 
and his eyes fell from mine — “ I am 
greatly distressed to learn that you and 
she have had a most unfortunate mis- 

15 


226 The Real Lady Hilda. 

understanding — only a misunderstanding 
— it cannot be more. I know you both. 
I know my mother; she is absolutely 
incapable of giving offense ; and I trust 
that I may say that I know you too.” 

“You may, if you please. But some- 
times I don’t know myself,” I answered 
recklessly. 

“ Perhaps you were not yourself to-day. 
I did not hear what occurred, only this, 
that my mother returned without you, and 
she assured me that you absolutely re- 
fused to receive any kindness at her 
hands.” 

What garbled story had she laid be- 
fore him ? Should I tell him the truth ? 
No ; it would humiliate him, and he had 
always been most loyal to us. 

“ Is this correct ? ” he inquired, in a 
low voice. 

“ Yes. I need not enter into un- 


Kind Inquiries. 227 

pleasant details, for Lady Hildegarde is 
your mother. But she has hurt my feel- 
ings most deeply.” 

“ I’m afraid she has an unfortunate 
manner sometimes ; but she means well. 
She has had a lot of trouble lately. My 
father has been ailing for a long time, 
and we have been most unlucky in some 
money matters, and she is worried and 
perhaps a little brusque and sharp. I 
wish you understood one another.” 

We understood one another to admira- 
tion. I was keenly alive to Lady Hilde- 
garde’s family politics : how it was ab- 
solutely necessary that this young man — 
her son, so eagerly making her excuses to 
me — was bound, by every family law, to 
marry his cousin (and my cousin), Dolly 
Chalgrove — the marriage meant mental 
ease, suitability, prosperity, fortune. A 
marriage with me, which she bitterly but 


228 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


needlessly dreaded, meant a miserable, 
poverty-stricken mesalliance. Yes ; I ac- 
knowledge that. It was a notorious fact 
that Mr. Somers was not a squire of dames. 
Lady Polexfen had magnified his atten- 
tions to me. Hence her coldness and neg- 
lect of Emma, her eagerness to transport 
me to the Colonies, her lies to her son, 
and her stern determination to keep us 
apart — wide apart. 

“ And so you will not accept my 
mother’s friendship ? ” he pursued. 

I shook my head with an emphasis 
that was some relief to my feelings, al- 
though it was not an act of courtesy to 
my visitor. 

“ Well,” and he rose as he spoke, a 
very tall figure in our little low room, 
“ you surely will- not taboo me, Miss 
Hayes ? ” he asked appealingly. “ I re- 
ceived great kindnesses, without question , 


Kind Inquiries. 


229 


from your father and mother. I knew 
your father better than you did yourself. 
You have told me that you have no rela- 
tives in this country.” 

“ None that I know,” I quibbled, “ or 
that know of me.” 

“ Yes ; you said so. Now, I hope you 
won’t think I am taking an awful liberty 
if I ask you what are your plans ? ” 

“ On the contrary, it is very kind of 
you to inquire. I am going to London in 
a few days, back to our old lodgings. I 
shall then look about for something to do. 
I should not care to be a nursery gover- 
ness, nor, as my landlady suggests, sing 
and dance at a music-hall.” 

“ A music-hall ! ” His elbow swept a 
little saucer crash into the fender — he 
was too big for our room. “ The woman 
must be mad ! ” 

“ Yes ; she confesses that she has often 


230 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


listened outside on the landing when I 
played my guitar and sang, and thinks 
I would ‘ take,’ as she calls it.” 

“ But ” 

“ But you need not be at all alarmed. 
I shall find some post, perhaps as clerk — 
I am clever at figures — perhaps as secre- 
tary. Mr. Blunt, the rector, will give 
me a character. I have only myself to 
please — no one’s wishes to consult.” 

As I spoke, he had been fingering the 
little ornaments on the chimney-piece, 
with his head half turned away. Then 
he suddenly confronted me, and said — 

“ Miss Hayes, I hope what I am going 
to say will not startle you very much.” 

I became cold all over, and my heart 
beat fast. Was he going to offer me 
money ? I laid down my work to conceal 
my trembling hands, and looked up in 
his face. 


Kind Inquiries. 


231 


“You will make me very happy if you 
will marry me.” 

I sat for a moment speechless ; then I 
also rose to my feet, and said in a low 
voice — I could not get it to sound, some- 
how — 

“ You cannot be in earnest, Mr. 
Somers.” 

“ I am in earnest — in deadly earnest, 
Miss Hayes.” 

“ You have seen me five times.” 

“ And every time I met you I have 
liked you better than the last. It began 
that day at the Stores. I am not a bit 
susceptible. I never felt drawn to any 
one in such a way. I have met heaps 
and heaps of girls, nice ones too and pretty, 
and gone away and forgotten them in 
half a day ; but you I never forgot. Your 
memory, your face, came all the way with 
me out to South America, came back with 


232 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


rue ; and when I saw you sweeping down 
the stairs at the Moate that night, I said 
to myself, ‘ Here she comes — my fate ! ’ 
My poor old governor has made an 
awful muddle of our affairs, and we are 
dreadfully hard up ; but I can take one 
of the farms, and work it myself.” He 
paused suddenly, and looked at me expect- 
antly. 

“ Mr. Somers,” I began, “you have — 
I have — ” Then in a sudden burst the 
words came — “ What you ask is impos- 
sible.” 

“ Why ? ” he questioned softly. 

“ There is Miss Clialgrove,” I replied, 
still more softly. 

“ Oh, that old story ! ” with a shrug. 
“ It would be an ideal match from the 
parents’ point of view, to combine the 
title and property with the money ; but 
we have to be considered. Thank God, 


Kind Inquiries. 


233 


we are not crowned heads, who must only 
consult the welfare of the State. In the 
first place, my cousin Dolly does not care 
a straw about me. I am her cousin, 
comrade, and old friend. She would not 
marry me for anything. She says she 
knows me too well ; it would be extremely 
uninteresting and monotonous ! Then, I 
would not marry her ; she is a very good 
fellow, but too much of a handful for any 
man. She has been riding a brute of a 
horse in the teeth of every one of her 
relations, male and female, and I heard 
to-day that he has given her rather a 
nasty fall, and she says it’s nothing ; but 
she is so plucky, she always makes light of 
everything that happens to herself. Well, 
you see, Miss Chalgrove is no obstacle.” 

“ No, but there is L,ady Hildegarde. If 
I were to marry you, I should only add 
to her troubles, and possibly she to mine. 


234 The Real Lady Hilda. 

You cannot say that your mother would 
approve of your engagement to a girl you 
have only met five times, and who is both 
penniless and friendless ? ” 

He made no immediate answer to this 
difficult question, and I added — 

“ She and I do not love one another.” 

“ But if you love me, Gwendoline, that 
is the main question. God knows, I love 
you ! ” 

“ You pity me, I am sure ; and pity ” 

“ No, I don’t,” he broke in impetuously, 
“ not in that sense, and I don’t believe in 
that fusty old saying.” 

“ And you know nothing about me. 
You have seen so little of me,” I urged. 

“ With regard to some people, a little 
goes a long way. Oh, good heavens, I 
don’t mean that / ” 

“ I don’t think you know what you 
mean,” I answered remorselessly. 


Kind Inquiries. 


235 


“Yes, I do ; but I am not quick and 
brilliant like you. I am doing my best 
to tell you that you are everything in the 
world to me — more than father, mother, 
money. I meant that the little I saw of 
you went a long way to making me care 
for you; and you are laughing at my 
blunders, and raising objections. The 
real, true, and only obstacle is not Tady 
Hildegarde nor Miss Chalgrove, but 
Miss Hayes herself. She does not care a 
brass button about me — any fool can see 
that ! ” 

He had actually worked himself into 
a passion. 

“ You are wrong,” I replied gravely. 
“ The objections are insurmountable. I 
can never marry you ; but I do care for 
you, and I can promise you one thing — 
that I will never, never marry any one 
else 


236 The Real Lady Hilda. 


“ But me — ’’(seizing my hand before I 
was aware). “ Then, you will promise 
that, on your word of honor ? ” 

“ Yes ; I will never marry any one — 
but you.” 

“ And when ? ” 

“ When your mother asks me to be her 
daughter-in-law,” I whispered. 

His face fell, and he hastily released 
me, as at this moment, without knock or 
cough, the door was flung open, and Miss 
Skuce burst into the room, with a news- 
paper in her hand. 

“ Oh, how do you do, Mr. Somers ? I 
had no idea you were here. Don’t you 
remember me? I’m Miss Skuce — Dr. 
Skuce’s sister ; he attends the Abbey 
servants, you know.” 

Mr. Somers — who looked very black in- 
deed — merely bowed. Was Miss Skuce 
abashed ? No, not a whit ; though even 


Kind Inquiries. 237 

she must have seen that she was greatly 
de trop. 

“ So sorry to hear that Miss Chalgrove 
has met with an accident in the hunting- 
field. I saw it in the paper. How anx- 
ious you must be. I trust it’s not serious.” 

“ No, I believe not ” — surveying her 
with cold curiosity. 

“ Well, it said that the horse fell on her” 
— sitting down, and apparently anxious to 
thresh out the subject at her leisure. 

“ Miss Hayes,” he said, turning to me, 
“ I shall hope to see you again before you 
leave.” 

He hesitated, reluctant to depart : he 
had so much to say to me! Then he 
shook hands, and, with an extremely cool 
bow to my visitor, walked out of the room. 
As the door closed after him, she jumped 
to her feet and cried — 

“ I saw him coming in. He has been 


238 The Real Lady Hilda. 


here fully twenty minutes ! It’s not at 
all comme il faut to be receiving men. I 
knew you would be dreadfully uncomfort- 
able, and so I trotted over. He had no 
business to call on you. He is a most 
overbearing-looking young man, and I 
can’t abide him ! He always seems as if 
he didn’t see me. What brought him ? 
What did he want — eh ? ” 

Oh, this woman — with her pitiless curi- 
osity, her keen little questioning eyes, 
coming just after my late most trying 
interview — was quite insupportable ! I 
could have stood up and screamed. I was 
overwrought, fagged, heartsore. I had 
had nothing to eat all day but a cup of tea 
and a slice of toast, for Lady Hildegarde’s 
pro-luncheon visit had effectually de- 
stroyed my appetite for my humble meal. 

Still, I struggled for composure and for- 
bearance, and offered a blank wall of im- 


Kind Inquiries. 


239 


penetrability to Mrs. Gabb and Miss 
Skuce’s storm of questions ; for Mrs. 
Gabb had entered with the tea-tray, and 
a friendly determination to know “ what 
brought young Mr. Somers at that hour 
of the night ? ” 

“ It is but barely five,” I answered ; “ and 
he came to pay me a visit of condolence. 
He knew Mrs. Hayes very well in India.” 

“ It’s a most unusual thing,” said Miss 
Skuce, suspiciously. “ I wonder what 
his mother would say to it? ” 

At last I got rid of my pair of tormen- 
tors. They found that I was indisposed 
to be communicative. I pleaded (with 
truth) that I had a dreadful headache. 
So they departed together — to wonder, 
suggest, protest, and to discuss me, whilst 
I turned down the lamp, threw myself on 
the sofa, and cried comfortably for a 
, couple of hours. 


240 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

“ MISS HAYES, I BELIEVE ? ” 

Surely, there is no more melancholy 
task than collecting and putting away 
the belongings of the dead ! Even such 
little everyday articles as gloves, pens, 
books, can inflict many agonizing stabs, 
however tenderly handled, ere they are 
thrust out of sight. Besides Emma’s own 
particular possessions, I had to open and 
investigate the great bullock trunk wdiich 
contained the remnant of my father’s and 
mother’s property ; so that I was at the 
present time actually surrounded and in- 
vested by the effects of three relatives 
who had passed away, and by many 


“Miss Hayes, I Believe?” 241 

dumb and inanimate things, which never- 
theless spoke with tongues. 

The bullock trunk — being large and 
unwieldy — had been brought up to the 
drawing-room. I had given orders that 
no one was to be admitted. I had even 
locked the door, ere I turned the key in 
the trunk. It smelt strongly of camphor, 
and contained mostly my father’s effects 
— his uniform, his pistols, books, some rare 
coins, several valuable daggers, several 
files of paid bills, and boxes of cartridges. 
Quite at the bottom was a good-sized 
leathern despatch-box, and a few pale 
water-color sketches, carefully wrapped 
in tissue-paper, and also a slender gold- 
mounted riding-whip and a broken fan. 
The despatch-box was full of letters — my 
father’s and mother’s letters. I glanced 
at one or two. Somehow, I shrank from 

reading them, from prying into the secrets, 
16 


242 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


the most sacred feelings of my dead 
parents. There was also an ivory Prayer- 
book, now very yellow, with the name, 
“ Gwendoline Chalgrove,” inscribed in a 
bold hand. There were, moreover, a 
faded photograph of a girl, a little baby’s 
shirt, in which was stuck a rusty needle, 
and that was all. 

These I put aside ; they were relics to be 
specially treasured. And then I repacked 
the great box (filling up the space with 
some of poor Emma’s possessions), and 
sent it down-stairs. I had a great deal 
too many cases for a person of my in- 
digent circumstances. My own para- 
phernalia was sufficiently modest, but I 
could not and would not abandon that 
great pile of luggage which had no living 
owners. I was going to London the next 
day. I had bidden good-by to the grave 
— paid our small accounts. I had packed 


“Miss Hayes, I Believe?” 243 

up all Emma’s belongings. I was now 
busily putting together my own effects in 
my little room above the drawing-room : 
I do believe that one’s clothes swell ! I 
was very hot and tired as I knelt on the 
floor stuffing mine into' a choking trunk, 
when Mrs. Gabb came pounding up the 
stairs and gasped out as she opened the 
door, “ There’s a gentleman below ! ” 
My mind of course, flew to Mr. Somers, 
and I made a gesture of dismissal. “ I 
can’t see any one ,” I began. 

“ He says he must see you ; and he — 
I couldn’t well catch his name, but I be- 
lieve he is lord. Here, just tidy yourself, 
and let me pick the white threads off you.” 

I hurried down, with a very tumultuous 
heart, and discovered (as I had half sus- 
pected) Lord Chalgrove. The room was 
in the utmost confusion, and he was 
standing in the middle of it, with one of 


244 The Real Lady Hilda. 

the little water-color drawings in his hand, 
which he laid aside as I entered. 

“ Miss Hayes, I — I believe ? ” he asked, 
after a moment’s hesitation. 

“ Yes ; my name is Hayes.” 

“You are the daughter of Desmond 
Hayes and my sister Gwendoline? ” 

“ I am,” I aknowledge gravely. 

“ Then, my dear,” he said, taking my 
hand in his, “ I have come to take you 
home.” 

I gazed at him incredulously. 

“ You understand, don’t you, that I am 
your uncle? Your mother was my only 
sister — you are my nearest of kin, except 
Dolly. You are the image of my poor 
Gwen ! ” 

And this sedate little gray-bearded 
gentleman, whom I had never spoken to 
before, drew me nearer to him and kissed 
me timidly. 


“Miss Hayes, I Believe?” 245 

“ How did you find me out ? ” I asked 
as lie sat down beside me. 

“ I saw Mrs. Hayes’s death in tbe paper. 
I made inquiries from Grindlay and Co. 
her agents. There was a Miss Hayes, 
they believed — a stepdaughter — and I 
came by the first train. I am going to 
take you back with me to-day ” — looking 
at his watch — “ by the four o’clock train. 
We shall not be home before ten o’clock 
to-night. I see you are half packed.” 

“ Yes, I was going to-morrow.” 

“ Then I am just in the nick of time ! 
I never knew of your existence, my 
dear, until this morning. I wish I had. 
There is no use in raking up old miseries 
now. My father and mother were stern 
and unforgiving — especially my father ; 
and your mother had been everything to 
them — they were so proud of her. Well, 
she was headstrong. My Dolly is the 


246 The Real Lady Hilda. 

same. Your father was a singularly 
handsome and fascinating fellow. She 
walked out and married him one morning 
in St. James’s Piccadilly ; and my father, 
when he heard the news, drew the blinds 
down all over the house, and gave out 
that Gwen was dead. And then poor 
Gwen died within a year in real earnest. 
We heard that the baby died too ; but I 
— I wished to make sure, and I wrote out 
to your father and made inquiries, and 
offered to receive the child, if it had sur- 
vived, and he simply returned me my own 
letter. If I had known, it would have 
been different for you of late years. 
Your father was too proud. Pride cost a 
good deal, you see. It cost my father his 
daughter — well, well ! ” 

“ How is Miss Chalgrove ? I heard she 
had met with an accident.” 

“ It’s not much — a mere strain, she 


“Miss Hayes, I Believe ?” 247 

says. Only for that, she would have ac- 
companied me ; but she has to lie still — a 
hard thing for her ; and she is not Miss 
Chalgrove, but your cousin Dolly. She 
declares that she recognized you at a 
dance by your likeness to the family. I 
saw you too, and was struck by the same 
thing, but I thought it was accidental. 
Dolly tried to find out your name, and to 
get formally introduced to you, but she 
was told that you were a niece of some 
Miss Bennys, and that they had taken 
you away early in the evening. Then 
we returned home, and, almost imme- 
diately, she met with this horrible fall, and 
that put things out of her head until the 
other day, when some one wrote a letter 
and spoke of a pretty Miss Hayes, living 
here, having lost her stepmother. Then 
we saw the Times notice, and put two and 
two together, and here I am! Even if 


248 The Real Lady Hilda. 


your likeness to Gwen did not speak for 
you, I see her things about. That Prayer- 
book, there, I gave her myself. How 
was it that you never sent me a line ? ” 

“ I never heard anything about my 
mother’s people until after that ball, when 
I told my stepmother of Miss Chalgrove’s 
resemblance to myself. And then she 
told me all about my mother, and how 
my father would never hear the name of 
Chalgrove mentioned. He never dreamt 
that he would be leaving me alone in the 
world ; and he was implacable on that 
one subject.” 

We talked for more than half an hour, 
my uncle and I. I felt as if I had known 
him for a long time. I told him all my 
circumstances ; in short, told him every- 
thing — excepting about Mr. Somers. 

“ You know the Somers, perhaps ? ” he 
asked. 


“ Miss Hayes, I Believe ? ” 249 

“Yes ; I — I — have met them.” 

“They are connections of ours — of 
yours. Everard is my heir, as perhaps 
you may have heard, and a fine fellow. 
His father is my next-of-kin, but has com- 
pletely lost his memory ; and Lady Hilde- 
garde and I, though we know each other 
since we were in pinafores — well — we 
don’t stable our horses together.” 

(Nor did Lady Hildegarde and I use 
the same stable !) 

“ I suppose I ought to drive out to the 
Abbey ; but it might run me for time, 
and we must go by the four o’clock train. 
May I ring for your landlady ? She can 
help you to put your things up. Some 
she can send after you ; and meanwhile 
I’ll go to the post-office and wire the news 
to Dolly.” 

What a fuss Mrs. Gabb made ! She 
was far more in the way than otherwise. 


250 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


However, in a very short time I had closed 
my gaping boxes, written directions, 
taken a dressing-bag, put on my hat and 
cloak, and was ready to start. 

Miss Skuce entered as I was casting 
my last look round the sitting-room. 
(She had had her usual few words with 
Mrs. Gabb, and was almost incoherent.) 

“ Well, Gwendoline ! ” — a long pause, 
employed in staring at me very hard, as 
if she expected me to look different in 
some way — “ and so your uncle is ‘ a 
lord and has come to fetch you ! Lord 
Chalgrove ! Well, well, well ! I congratu- 
late you ” — kissing me effusively — “ I am 
quite broken-hearted that you are going.” 
She had never mentioned this before. 
“ And you will be a great lady — indeed, I 
am not one bit surprised — you always had 
the grand air,” and she held me back at 
arm’s length, and surveyed me, this time 


251 


“ Miss Hayes, I Believe ? ” 

with undisguised admiration. “ When 
you are living in high places, and driving 
in your coroneted carriage, you won’t for- 
get your poor friends who were intimate 
with you ” (far too intimate) “ in your 
days of poverty and adversity ? ” 

“ No, no, Miss Skuce,” eager to escape, 
“ I’ll never forget you — I can promise you 
that most faithfully.” 

“ Dear ! You don’t mean to say that 
you have been over saying good-by to 
those horrid, common Mounds ? ” 

“ Certainly I have ; they have been 
most kind to me. Why should I not take 
leave of them ? ” 

“ Well, I shall miss you frightfully. 
Living opposite to you has been as in- 
teresting as a tale in The Family Reader 
or Bow Bells. What with your coming 
so poor and lowly, and then knowing 
Lady Hildegarde, and turning the heads 


252 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


of hundreds at the Moate ball — oh, / heard 
all about it — and then being left desolate, 
and scorned, and, lastly, being fetched 
away by a lord, your own uncle - — why, it’s 
most — most awfully affecting ! ” and she 
actually was so excited and upset that she 
began to cry. 

In the midst of her sobs, my nncle re- 
appeared, followed by a fly from the sta- 
tion. He gazed in puzzled bewilderment 
at Miss Skuce, who gasped out in jerky 
sentences — 

“ So sorry — to part — with this dear sweet 
girl — Lord Chalgrove. I am her oldest 
friend, too — as she will tell you. Known 
her — known her since she first came — 
a — stranger to Stonebrook.” 

“ I am sure I am greatly obliged to you, 
ma’am. A kindness to my niece is a 
double kindness to me.” 

“ Then,” hastily drying her eyes, “ will 


“Miss Hayes, I Believe?” 253 

you do me a favor, and allow me to come 
and see her off, your lordship ? ” 

“ Certainly; only too delighted,” hand- 
ing her into the fly : Mrs. Gabb and 
family, Mrs. Mound and family, being as- 
sembled, and spectators of this most proud 
moment ! 

Then I took leave of them all, and of 
that dingy little house, where I had known 
many sorrows and but few joys ; and 
was rattled off to the station at a great 
pace — my uncle being engaged all the 
time in listening to Miss Skuce’s voluble 
regrets. 

It was a new experience to me to be 
waited upon ; my uncle took all trouble 
off my hands. Whilst he was getting the 
tickets, I noticed the Abbey carriage drive 
up ; it contained Lady Hildegarde and 
Lady Polexfen — who was evidently going 
away. They seemed surprised to see Lord 


254 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


Chalgrove, and accosted him warmly. He 
said something in reply, and then both 
ladies turned and looked hard at me ; but 
there was no time for further conversation, 
for our train was entering the station. 

As my uncle joined me with tickets and 
newspapers, I said in a low voice, “ Not 
in the same carriage with Lady Polexfen, 
please — -please ! ” 

Then I said farewell to Miss Skuce, who, 
sobbing hysterically, folded me in her 
arms ; there was no use in struggling, but 
I promised myself that it would be for the 
last time. Much as I hated her endear- 
ments, they evidently afforded her sincere 
gratification. 

As the clock pointed to four, we steamed 
slowly away, leaving her on the platform 
dissolved in tears, and Lady Hildegarde 
looking after xis with a glare of stony 
incredulity. 


A New Station of Life. 255 


CHAPTER XV. 

A NEW STATION OF LIFE. 

WE were met at Chalgrove station by 
the coroneted carriage and high-stepping 
horses, as foreseen by Miss Skuce’s eager 
imagination. My scanty, shabby baggage 
was entirely the affair of a tall footman, who 
ushered me to this splendid equipage with 
an air of solemn deference, which afforded 
ample testimony that Lord Chalgrove’s 
niece was somebody. 

“ I’m extremely anxious about Dolly,” 
said my uncle as we bowled along at a 
rapid rate. 

This was the third or fourth time, within 
three or four hours, that he had made the 
same remark. 


256 The Real Lady Hilda. 


“ She won’t give in — she has such a 
spirit — but I know she is more injured 
than we suspect, and that Dr. Harwood 
has rather a grave opinion of her case. An 
accident to the spine is always a serious 
matter.” 

“ I should think it was,” I assented. 
“ But then, she has youth on her side, 
which is something.” 

“ And she will have you by her side, 
which will be something,” he replied. “ It 
seems almost providential — quite provi- 
dential, indeed — that I should have been 
able to lay claim to a relation, to a young 
companion for her, just at this critical 
time.” 

“ Most providential for me, uncle, seeing 
that I have neither friends nor home.” 

“ And here is your home now, my dear,” 
he said, as we dashed between a pair of 
great stone pillars. “ This is Chalgrove, 


A New Station of Life. 257 

where your mother was horn. There were 
only two of us, and we were always greatly 
attached to one another — and she was the 
leading spirit of the two, afraid of nothing 
not even of my father ; and many a scrape 
we got into together, though I was the 
elder by five years.” 

Chalgrove Chase was a lovely place — 
not a new place in old clothes, nor an old 
place decked out in modem garments ; 
but a beautiful, dignified, venerable pile, 
standing among sloping green glades and 
fine forest trees. We entered through a 
hall or armory lined with coats of mail 
and feudal banners, and passed into a great 
gallery paneled with carved oak, and hung 
with impressive-looking portraits ; every- 
thing around me spoke of generations of 
magnificence, and of dignified prosperity. 
And I was, in a way, a daughter of this 

wealthy and ancient house ! 

17 


258 The Real Lady Hilda. 


The real daughter of the house received 
me with wide-open arms, as she lay upon 
a couch in her boudoir. Poor girl ! even 
now I saw a sad change in her ; her merry, 
dancing eyes looked anxious, and almost 
tragic ; were they already deploring her 
blighted youth? Her lips were drawn 
with pain, her cheeks had lost their pretty 
contour. Yes, in ten days’ time Dolly 
Chalgrove was wasted to a shadow ! 

Her spirits, however, were still in robust 
condition, and she hailed me with enthu- 
siasm, and — what is more lasting — with 
warm and enduring affection. 

“ To tell you the truth, I don’t care for 
many girls ! ” she confessed as I sat beside 
her, “ and those who have been my chief 
pals have a horrid knack of getting mar- 
ried, and that puts an end to everything ; 
because, once a girl marries, she tells all 
she hears to her husband, and even lets 


A New Station of Life. 259 

him read her letters, and that three- 
cornered sort of business is most unsatis- 
factory. But now I have you, my own 
first cousin, who is the image of my Aunt 
Gwendoline, father says, and as I resemble 
her too, no wonder we are almost like 
sisters, and that I was drawn to you on 
the spot ! ” 

“ And I to you,” I answered emphat- 
ically. 

“ You remember that I told you to look 
out for me in the sporting papers ; but I 
never dreamt that when you did see me 
mentioned in a paragraph, it would be as 
the victim of a ‘ shocking accident in the 
hunting field.’ It was not really the 
horse’s fault, though he has a hot temper. 
Another woman was riding jealous — she 
actually rode at me ! She crossed us at 
a fence. He jumped wildly, and fell — fell 
on me, on stones. I put up my hands 


26 o 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


(as I always do) to save my face ; but in 
his struggles he kicked me in the back. 
You say I shall get better. No, my dear 
Cousin Gwen, I’m going to let you into 
a horrible secret — I shall get worse. I 
feel it. Every day I am more loglike and 
powerless. Oh, I am so sorry for the poor, 
poor pater. He and I always hunted in 
couples, always went everywhere together. 
Gwen, you will have to be a daughter to 
him and take my place.” 

Dolly’s sad presentiment came true ; 
all that winter, spring, and summer, she 
never left her bed, and I nursed her. At 
length there was a shade of improvement, 
and we took her abroad by easy stages, 
and remained there for months. She is 
no longer bedridden, or a helpless invalid, 
or chained to her sofa always. 

This she declares she owes to me ; but 
that is only a way of saying that she is 


A New Station of Life. 261 

fond of me. Her own patience, fortitude, 
and cheerful disposition did more for her 
than our assiduous care and foreign baths. 
She will never, alas, be able to walk, to 
dance, to mount a horse again ! She will 
be a cripple, more or less, as long as she 
lives. Nevertheless, she takes a vivid 
interest in life — life, in which my pretty, 
vivacious, warm-hearted Cousin Dolly can 
be but a bystander and spectator. She 
takes a keen interest in Everard and me. 
We have been engaged to be married for 
some time — with the full approval of both 
families. 

Yes, Lady Hildegarde paid a three 
days’ visit to the Chase when we returned 
from Germany, ostensibly to inquire for 
Dolly, and judge of her progress with her 
own eyes ; but in reality to ask me (to 
command, exhort, and entreat, me) to be 
her son’s wife. 


262 The Real Lady Hilda. 

For, strange as it may appear, it will 
be my hand, and not poor Dolly’s, that 
alone can join the great Chalgrove fortune 
to the impoverished Somers estates ! 

I am mistress of a splendid establish- 
ment, with an admirable housekeeper as 
viceroy. And I “ fell into the ways of 
the place,” as she expressed it, with ex- 
traordinary ease. 

I suppose there was something in be- 
longing by blood to the race that had 
lived there for generations ! Ideas, in- 
stincts, tastes, manners, are surely heredi- 
tary ! Who would believe that I had spent 
so many sighs and tears over a much 
smaller domestic budget, or with what an 
anxious eye I had scanned the butter (salt 
butter) and the candles, in order to meas- 
ure their consumption ? Who would 
imagine that I knew far better than my 
own scullery-maid the cheap parts of meat ; 


A New Station of Life. 263 

and that once an unexpected deficit of two 
and fourpence half penny had cost me a 
sleepless night! 

How I wished that Emma, the partner 
of those dark days, had been alive to 
enjoy the sunshine of my present pros- 
perity ! 

I have not forgotten Stonebrook — nor 
has it forgotten me. I send punctual 
remembrances to Mrs. Gabb and the 
Mounds ; and Miss Skuce clings to me. 
She favors me with long letters (crossed) 
and elaborate Christmas cards, and 
receives in return hampers of game and 
hothouse fruit. Uncle Chalgrove calls 
her “ a kind, good, warm-hearted old 
soul ! ” and I leave him in his ignorance. 
I have steadily turned a deaf ear to her 
continual importunities and eager appeals 
for my photograph, and she mentions that 
she would “ prefer a large one, in my court 


264 The Real Lady Hilda. 


train ! ” She shall never possess a picture 
of mine, large or small, plain or colored, 
for I well know how it would stand on 
her mantelpiece, to be criticised, explained, 
and talked over, and have all its poor little 
history garrulously related. No, never, 
never / 

Everard, my cousin and fiance , spends 
most of his time at the Chase. We are 
to live there altogether in the coming by 
and by. He and I often walk out beside 
Dolly’s invalid chair, and accompany her 
round the park, the grounds, gardens, or 
to her favorite haunt, the paddocks, to 
see the pensioners and the young horses. 
Among the former is Diable Vert (fat, 
lazy, and dead lame). Dolly was firm 
with respect to her former favorite, and 
obtained a reprieve for him, as he was 
being led forth to execution. He also had 
suffered in that dreadful accident, and is 


A New Station of Life. 265 

worthless as a hunter ; but he hobbles up 
to the gate whenever he hears the voice of 
his comrade in misfortune. 

I know that Everard often — nay, 
perhaps always — wonders why I am not 
more cordial to his mother. She knew 
my own mother intimately long ago, and 
has repeatedly assured me, with what 
poor Emma called her “ irresistible ” man- 
ner, that she will take her old friend’s 
place, and be viore than a mother to me ! 
Naturally, X have never once referred to 
our unpleasant little encounter in Mrs. 
Gabb’s lodgings, nor to Emma, nor to 
India, nor to any delicate subjects. I am 
always civil and — I hope — agreeable, j 
shall never tell tales to Everard. Perhaps 
he may have his suspicions — who knows ? 
Perhaps Miss Skuce took all Stonebrook 
into her confidence — perhaps not. But it 
js a curious fact, that latterly he has 


266 


The Real Lady Hilda. 


ceased to urge me to pay visits to the Ab- 
bey, or to inquire why I invariably decline 
his mother’s continual and pressing invi- 
tations to stay with her for a week or 
two — or even to spend Christmas ! 





















